


what's the point of wings

by badlywrittenbfu (ghoultown), ghoultown



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Ableist Language, Acquaintances to Lovers, Angst, Birds, Dysfunctional Family, Family Issues, Hermit Shane, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Possibly Unrequited Love, Ryan Bergara is Tired, Ryan Bergara is an idiot, Scared Shane Madej, Shane Madej In Love, Shane Madej is an idiot, Slow Burn, adding tags as I go, caretaker, in earlier chapters, isolated tendencies, moral bff character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2020-10-21 19:37:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 23,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20698793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghoultown/pseuds/badlywrittenbfu, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghoultown/pseuds/ghoultown
Summary: Shane rubs his eyes. “I’m so fascinated with birds.”Ryan shakes his head, “Not this again, Shane.”“No,” Shane says. He holds a hand out, as if to sayhold on. Don't leave.“Listen.Listen.”(shane has an odd interest in birds and ryan doesn’t know what that means)





	1. Prologue

Ryan Bergara exits the small white house in the forest, soaked to the bone with his hands clenched at his sides. His sneakers catch on the wooden planks of the porch. He’s too angry to yell at the stairs. He walks, determined, to the gray lemon that idles on the gravel driveway.

“What today?” Joseph asks, his arm wrapped around the back of the passenger seat. He hands Ryan a coffee, lukewarm and comforting.

“He’s on my last nerve,” Ryan says through clenched teeth. “He’s fucking _bananas_.” He worries at his thumbnail, resting the warm cup on his thigh. He takes a deep breath. “He told me he needed help pulling his birdcage from the pond – “

“What?”

“I _know_,” Ryan says. He digs his fingertips into his eyes. “I know. Yeah. His birdcage was in the pond. Jo, he doesn’t even have a bird.”

Joseph only shakes his head, staring ahead at the house with muted interest.

“Anyways,” Ryan pushes his wet hair back from his face. “It’s like a wetland back there so I slipped on some moss and fell in - ”

Joseph laughs once, loud, tilting his head back.

“ – and the fucker _laughed _at me.”

“Did he help you out, at least?”

“No, of course not. He just waited for me to get out and told me I needed to help him hang up his dragonfly nets.” Ryan can’t believe his life. “Then you pulled in, thank God.”

“What a day,” Joseph says. He corrects himself, “What a _guy_.”

“Maybe I should just quit.” Ryan taps his fingers on the paper cup, frowning.

“Maybe,” Joseph nods, hand on the wheel, looking over his shoulder. They begin to pull away. “Or maybe you should take the money and shut the fuck up.” He smiles, to soften the blow.

Ryan laughs, mostly to keep from crying. He’s cold and frustrated and _tired_. He can feel his shirt clinging to his skin. He sips the coffee. “Not a bad idea.”

Ryan turns in his seat to watch the house grow smaller. The old car is jostled on the unpaved roads, the back windshield vibrating. The chipped white paint curls up to hide behind the greenery, tree branches framing the house before swallowing it whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my mom's second job is checking on this woman named megan and buying her groceries and making sure she's still alive in her little forest cabin and i thought.....
> 
> might as well write a romanticized version of that where shane is a nightmare and ryan has to deal with him.
> 
> anyways.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hey,” Ryan says. He shoulders the porch door open (it’s never locked), his arms full of groceries that he’s stuffed into a cardboard box for ease to carry. Joseph’s tires toss buckets of gravel behind him as he peels out of the driveway. “How are you today, Shane?”

Shane is propped up on the couch messing with the Bose headphones box he’s had for weeks. He hasn’t seen Ryan yet, and certainly can’t hear him with the stupid neon pink earplugs sticking in his ears.

Shane has a very specific fashion sense in that he refuses to acknowledge that fashion sense exists. The clothes he owns are the same clothes that his brother had randomly picked up from a thrift store when Shane was first set up to live here. Pairs of sweatpants in faded colors of the rainbow, patterned wool sweaters that don’t fit him, t-shirts from office team-building trips in the early 90s.

The worst offense of all, in Ryan’s opinion, are the slippers. Navy blue with sticky dots on the bottom that squeak when he trudges through the kitchen, worn every minute of every day without fail. At any given moment, Shane looks like a randomized character from a video game. It is… painful.

Ryan sets the box down, heavy, on the kitchen counter. The floor shakes and Shane jumps, looking around for danger.

“Oh,” Shane says, scrambling to stand. He leaves the headphones on the couch. “Hi, Ryan.”

“How are you, today?” Ryan asks again. After a few moments, he looks up to find Shane staring at him. “Shane?”

“I can’t hear you.”

“Take the earplugs out,” Ryan says, smiling faux-sweetly. Thirty seconds in the house and he already can’t wait to leave.

“But I don’t like the sound of the air conditioner,” Shane says this like it’s a fact that Ryan should have tatted on the inside of his eyelids. Shane walks until he’s inside Ryan’s bubble, looking over his shoulder. “What’s in there?”

“All your usuals,” Ryan gestures to the haul. “Didn’t you know if you still like guac but I got it anyway.”

“Hm,” Shane says, not answering. “Okay. Thanks.”

“S’what I’m here for,” Ryan pats his shoulder. Shane steps back, most likely to keep that from happening again. “Alright. What are we doing today?”

“Dragonfly nets,” Shane says, loud to hear himself. “It’s getting cold outside so I don’t need the air conditioning.”

“Oh,” Ryan sighs, already exhausted. Just like yesterday. And the day before. And the month before that. “So… you still want the dragonfly nets?”

“Yeah,” Shane says. “We didn’t do it last time. I wanna take the doors off and replace them with dragonfly nets.”

“That’s… we can’t… we’ll figure something out.”

“Right,” Shane nods. He looks around with his hands on his hips like he’s the new owner of a fixer-upper in a movie. He’s lived here alone for ten years, only one of which Ryan’s been a part of. It isn’t rare to see Shane looking around as if it’s a new space with potential for change. Potential for change that Shane doesn’t seem to want to be the catalyst for.

“So. You hungry?”

“No,” Shane climbs back onto the couch. The way he folds in on himself makes Ryan feel claustrophobic. His knees to his chest, his feet tucked under himself. “Can we put the nets up? I have them.”

“I’ll have to ask your brother.”

Shane practically hisses, “Why? _He_ doesn’t live here, _I_ do.”

“Yeah, but he pays for all this food and he pays me to watch you so. His decision.” Ryan starts to unpack the food, pulling the fridge open. He frowns, “Shane, how long has this been empty?”

“I don’t know, ask my brother.”

Ryan glares at him. Shane busies himself with the headphone box, handling it carefully. He stares at each side as though it will open itself.

“You know you can call me when you need things,” Ryan says. “I gave you my number, do you remember it?”

“2-7-9…” Shane glances at the inside of his palm that rests open on the top of the box. “1-5-5-0.”

“Nice.” Ryan shakes his head, “I can’t have you starving, bud. Where will my income come from?”

Shane looks up at him, quick as lightning, before returning his attention to the box in his hands. He raps his knuckles against the box once. A second passes. Twice. Three times –

“_Jesus_, Shane. Do you need me to open that for you?” Ryan flattens his palms against the counter so he won’t clench them. Shane’s eyes are wide, surprised, looking through him. “Just ask. Just _ask,_ if you need me to open that.”

“I…” Shane taps his fingers on the box one time through before holding it up for Ryan to see.

“You have to _ask_, I said.” Ryan picks up a few cans and walks over to the cabinet.

“What?”

“You have to ask.”

“What?”

“Shane.” Ryan places the cans on the shelves before turning to him. Shane’s not smiling but his eyes are bright. “Take the earplugs out, will you?”

“Don’t like the sound of the air conditioner.”

“Then turn it off.”

Shane scoffs, holding the box higher in the air. Ryan sighs towards the ceiling, loud enough even for Shane to hear.

“Where are your manners, Shane? Did they ever teach you those?” Ryan crosses the room, the carpet groaning under his sneakers.

“Who?” Shane asks, watching as Ryan takes the box from his hands. Ryan pulls his keys from his pocket and rips through the tape on all four sides.

“What do you mean, _who_?”

“Who would have taught me manners?” Shane waits for Ryan to open the top so that he can grab the headphones. He places them over his ears, a second line of defense inhibiting Shane from hearing Ryan talk. “Is there a class for that? I didn’t take it.”

“No, I meant… your family.”

Shane frowns, “Oh.” He stands up. Ryan forgets how tall he is, from time to time. He looks ridiculous today, a D.A.R.E. shirt stretched across his chest and cutting the circulation off to his arms. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Okay,” Ryan says. He hikes a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m gonna put the groceries up. Anything else you need? I might take off, after that.”

“_Nets_, Ryan.”

“I’ll call your brother, alright? Might not happen ‘til next time.” Ryan takes his phone out of his pocket and dials Joseph to pick him up. Fifteen minutes isn’t too bad of a shift. If Joseph is pissy about it, Ryan will buy him lunch.

Shane grunts, disappointed, before spinning on his heel. His slippers creak against the tiles of the bathroom, distant, before the door closes.


	3. Chapter 3

Ryan met Thom Madej through a friend.

He had been looking for work for some time, yet immediately disappointed and bored by all of the potential jobs that were popping up in his message boards. He didn’t want to work in food service – it required much more restraint than he had in him. He had tried jobs at grocery stores, a bagger and a stocker, but he found himself unhappy in both. There was a level of frustration that came with being so picky. Oh, how he wanted to be content.

Finally, after Ryan had nearly succumbed to the prospect of eternal unemployment, his old pal from his college basketball team sent him a Facebook message.

_Hey, Ry. Know we haven’t talked in awhile. Heard you were looking for a steady job? If you book this one, you’ll be good for life. _Attached to the message was an image of a flyer stuck in a downtown coffee shop window. It was hand-written, offering only a phone number and a few names.

Needless to say, Ryan was intrigued. It sounded like typical spam garbage, but he was desperate.

The Madej family were incredibly wealthy. Shane’s father was a financial advisor (to the stars, probably) and his mother was a terrifyingly prevalent real-estate agent in the biggest neighborhoods in California. They had money to burn. They chose to burn it on a babysitter for their youngest son, even if he was 30-some years old.

Thom Madej is their oldest son. He was the one to meet with Ryan, all gussied up in his finest suit. His first words to Ryan were, “We need to hurry this up, if possible. I have places to be.”

Shane is nothing like his family. He looks as though he’s never worn a suit in his life, like he’s never personally handled money if not only to give it to Ryan every day. Sometimes Ryan wonders why, but often he gets distracted by how crazy Shane is. How unbelievably infuriating.

“I’d like to have a bird,” Shane says, curled into himself as he watches Ryan struggle to push the cracked windowpanes out. He’s made quite a bit of progress over the past hours. Shane, of course, has done nothing to help.

“I’ll have to ask your brother,” Ryan says. He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. He had turned the air conditioner off so that Shane could take his earplugs out, but he had underestimated how hot it could get in the small cabin. Getting the windows out will help quite a bit, he imagines. “What kind of bird would you want?”

“Don’t know,” Shane traces the creases in the arm of the couch with a finger. “A pretty one.”

“Checks out,” Ryan laughs. The window gives, suddenly, bursting out from the wall and bringing Ryan with it. He feels himself get tugged back, his back hitting something firm and warm. “Hey – “

“Be careful,” Shane says, uncurling his fingers from the fabric of Ryan’s shirt and moving him to stand. “Please.”

Ryan clears his throat, turning. “It’s difficult to be careful when I’m trying to punch out a window.”

“You did it, though,” Shane crawls back to his place in the cushions. “The nets are beside your feet.”

“Wow, thanks.” Ryan rolls his eyes. “Thanks for catching me, though.”

“I’m hungry,” Shane murmurs, looking longingly toward the kitchen.

“Shane,” Ryan groans, gathering up the netting in his arms. “Pick one. Nets or food. This won’t take much longer, but I can’t do two things at once.”

Shane nods, “I know.”

There is a noticeable silence that settles. It makes Ryan deeply uncomfortable. Five months ago, Ryan caught Shane staring at him while he was putting groceries away and, ever since then, he’s been able to feel when Shane’s staring. Now is one of these times. It’s like a superpower, of sorts.

“Did you get those oranges?” Shane asks, voice distant. Ryan glances over his shoulder to find Shane walking toward the kitchen. It’s a rarity to watch him move that way, if not to tell Ryan where to put things.

“Yep,” Ryan steps up onto the window sill, nets in hand, still not quite sure how he got here as a person. “Like you asked for.”

Shane crawls up onto the counter, taking the red mesh bag of citrus into the basket his legs create. He stares down at them for awhile. “I don’t like this kind of orange.”

“… What?”

“Will you open this for me?” Shane holds the bag forward, his arms straight.

“I’m indisposed at the moment,” Ryan rolls his eyes, holding a nail up against the wall. “There are scissors in the knife block, you know. Cut it open.”

“I’ll just wait.”

“Jesus, Shane,” Ryan can’t help but laugh, grabbing a hammer. “You’re a piece of work, big guy.”

Shane doesn’t say anything in response. He only shifts the bag in his hands, thoughtfully and carefully, patient yet not patient at all.

“I like birds,” he says after a while. Ryan is moments away from finishing up, the crisp nearly-cold air having tunneled into the fabric of his shirt for over thirty minutes, ready to open the bag of oranges for Shane and hit the road.

“That’s good,” Ryan says, climbing down from his perch. “Alright. I don’t know if this was such a good idea, Shane. What happens when it rains?”

Shane considers this. “Can you get… next time you come, can you get a tarp or something?”

Ryan has his hands on his hips, staring at the man who’s sitting up on his kitchen counter like a child. Staring at the man who’s wearing bright pink sweatpants, holding a bag of oranges as if he’s never seen one up close.

“Sure, Shane.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is this ineligible? yeah. is it fun to write? yeah!


	4. Chapter 4

“What’s he like?” Joseph asks, unprompted, as he slips back into the driver’s seat. He lays the piping hot pizza box on Ryan’s lap with no conference.

“What?” Ryan chokes out, lifting the box up and off of him, hissing. “Who?”

“Shane,” he says, in a _duh _sort of tone. “What’s he like?”

“I…” Ryan carefully places the box in the back seat on top of the folded blue tarp. Mostly to save his legs from burns, also to buy time. “What does that mean, really?”

“You’ve known him for a year. I know he’s a handful or something, but I don’t know what he looks like.”

“That’s… I mean, it doesn’t matter,” Ryan decides. “Doesn’t matter. He just looks like a guy.”

“Oh, my God,” Joseph rolls his eyes, starting the car. “Ryan, it kind of matters. I was thinking about it recently, you know. What if he’s the most handsome man to ever walk the earth, and you’ve been keeping him to yourself this whole time?”

“Believe me, that’s not the case.”

After he says this, Ryan fears he may have started something. Something he can’t stop.

It’s happened before. With several cheesy romantic movies he’s heard himself say _oh, no, that’s not my thing - _cut to him watching Judd Apatow films on Friday nights alone, sobbing into his pillows. Once his mouth states a very reasonable certainty, his brain always longs for the exact opposite.

Joseph knows this too, judging by his quiet, ”Mhmm.”

Ryan just smooths out the fabric of his jeans.

“I’m dying here, Ryan.” Joseph pulls onto the highway, “Tell me _something_, for God’s sake.”

“He’s tall,” Ryan says quietly. Firstly, because it’s a defining trait of Shane, and secondly, he doesn’t know much else about him. “And he has… brown hair.”

“Wow, it’s like I’m there,” Joseph says lamely. “You sure you’ve been taking care of him for a year?”

“Yeah, I don’t know…” They turn onto the graveled road they’ve driven down many times. “I don’t focus on him, I guess. I focus on everything else. Like the fact that I had to literally break out his window last week to put a net in.”

“Is that code for something?”

“Fuck off.” Ryan taps his fingers on the door handle, thinking for a moment. “Maybe… maybe you can come in for a second, this time. See what he looks like if it’ll make you shut up about it.”

Joseph scoffs, turning the radio on to mitigate the weird vibes both parties are picking up. Some 80s rock nonsense filters quietly through the back speakers. The car jostles around through the potholes formed through years and years of rain filtering through the same spots of the same trees. “Would that be an intrusion? Don’t wanna scare the guy.”

“He’s not a stray dog, Jo. Don’t worry.”

They pull into the driveway. The dragonfly netting sways in the breeze, a wordless hello.

“Do you think he wants a slice of ‘za?” Joseph asks, stepping out of the car. Ryan walks around back to tug the tarp out from underneath the box. “Does he like ‘za?”

“No, he’s more of an orange person,” Ryan says, slamming the door closed. The car sways for a moment, axels grinding and scraping against things they aren’t meant to. “Let’s go in.”

“Do I need to wait outside first, or?”

“He isn’t gonna freak out, Joseph. Jesus Christ, calm down.” Ryan steps up onto the porch, the wood planks groaning under the weight. Joseph follows close behind, hands in his pockets. “He’s chill. He’s odd, but he’s chill. You should try to be chill too.”

“It’s quaint out here in the wilderness,” Joseph says as Ryan nudges the door open, peering inside. “Do you think he’d sell?”

“No, he’s lived here for too long. Too much investment, I think.” Ryan steps inside, “Hey, Shane? Where are you?”

Joseph stands behind him, almost as if to hide. “Empty in here.”

“Yeah,” Ryan says. He looks around. He’s never noticed. “Shane, bud? You here?” He folds the tarp up, nicer than before, and sets it on the coffee table. Joseph stays by the door, just looking around, while Ryan enters further. “Shane?”

“Is he even here?” Joseph practically whispers, his voice bouncing off of the bare walls.

“Of course he’s here. He never leaves. Shane?” He calls louder, looking over the kitchen counter and into the backyard. His eyes land on Shane’s bedroom door, closed. “Oh. He might be asleep.”

“Asleep?” Joseph chokes out. He checks his phone. “It’s four in the afternoon?”

“He’s definitely asleep,” Ryan tries the doorknob. It’s locked. Shane likes to lock his room when he needs time alone, and he likes to be alone when he sleeps. It makes sense, Ryan likes to think. “Well. Maybe next time.”

“Aw,” Joseph’s shoulders sag. “Do you have a picture of him, at least? I’m too curious now, I think I’ll burst.”

“I don’t take pictures of him, that would be weird. I’ll check… hm, in the drawers, I guess.” Ryan kneels next to the coffee table. He’s always been careful not to search through Shane’s things, but he figures discretion isn’t needed right now. “Empty over here.”

Ryan jumps at the noise of a drawer opening, falling backward. He looks up at Joseph, who holds a dusty picture frame in his hands. Ryan rolls his eyes.

“Is this him?” He asks, holding the frame outward. Ryan pushes himself to stand and retrieve it. “I thought you said he was unremarkable?”

Ryan wipes his thumb across the glass, pushing the dust away. Shane in the image looks like Shane now, if he were to dress nicely and brush his hair and see the sun. Like a healthier Shane. His clothes match, which would be the most startling if it weren’t for Thom Madej standing beside him, a foot shorter. Neither man smiles. Ryan can’t remember a time he’s seen Shane smile.

“Where’d you find this?” Ryan holds it up if only to make sure Joseph knows what he’s talking about.

Joseph looks to the open kitchen drawer that Ryan’s never bothered to open. Ryan peers inside, running his fingers across the loose photographs, paper ragged at the ends. “He was a cute kid.”

“I’ve never seen these before,” Ryan says. He carefully lifts an older portrait to his eyes. A family full of suited men and women, and there stands Shane – no more than five years old, wearing an outfit that Ryan swears he’s seen Shane wear as an adult. Bright blue, soft pants and a pink t-shirt. A pop of color in an otherwise seemingly grayscale image.

“I feel smothered even looking at that,” Joseph mumbles over his shoulder. “Are those his parents?”

“I guess?” Ryan doesn’t know. He’s never met them.

“Can’t imagine they’ve felt joy in their lives,” he plucks the photo from Ryan’s fingers, “The house is nice though. Big.”

Ryan hums. “Let’s, uh… let’s go. Maybe you can meet him another time.”

“Alright,” Joseph agrees, placing the picture in the drawer and sliding it shut. “Pizza’s getting cold.”


	5. Chapter 5

When Ryan returns five days later to find the tarp still folded pristinely, precisely in the same place, he feels something come up his throat. He’s unsure if it’s fear or guilt or a horrifying combination of both.

While he might not know much about Shane, while he may not be able to describe what he looks like, he knows this: Shane likes to touch things. He fucks with things, especially things that Ryan folds. Anytime Ryan’s had to do Shane’s laundry, Shane found great joy in sinking his hands into the neatly pleated clothes inside the hamper and toss them like a salad. The tarp has not so much as been touched, a neat layer of dust gathered in a thin sheet on top.

“Shane?” He walks toward the closed bedroom door. “Shane, bud, you okay?”

Silence. The air conditioner rattles from where it sits in the window. Ryan thought Shane turned it off. Maybe not.

“Shane, I brought you a tarp last time. Didn’t you want it?” Ryan kneels next to the door, pressing his face against the carpet. Ryan can’t see any shadows moving around. But then again, he isn’t sure what he’s looking for. He tries the doorknob, still locked. “Shane, are you in there? You can’t still be asleep.”

The distant noise of bedsprings shifting. He lets out a long breath. _Thank God. _As if he’d lost Shane. He never leaves.

“Are you okay, big guy? Please talk to me, I’m getting worried.” Ryan gets up off the floor. “Move around, at least. Let me know you’re in there.”

A distant thump, twice, three times – slow and deliberate knuckles rapping against the furthest wall.

“Okay. Thanks.” Ryan sighs, looking around. “I’ll put the tarp up and then… I’ll stay. Okay? I’ll be out here. You should come out before I leave.”

Quiet thump. Ryan wishes he knew what it meant. Yes or no. He wishes he paid more attention. Maybe then he’d understand.

The tarp goes up, easy as cake. Without Shane there, Ryan works faster. Ryan can’t spin it positively, though. He wonders if he works faster because he’s so nervous with his back to Shane’s door as if he might miss Shane’s exit.

“Still here!” He finds himself saying every few minutes. Shane never replies. The house feels exponentially emptier without him in it. The room has just that much more space, a void where Shane used to sit, the oddly-shaped spaces he would occupy.

He finds himself staring at his phone. Some entity on his shoulder whispers, _call his brother. Call his brother. Call his brother. What if he’s hurt? What if he’s dying? His brother has the keys to the doors. He can fix this. _

Ryan hears the dial tone before he can feel his fingers dial. So easily he’s able to peer pressure himself.

_“Thom Madej.” _The voice is cold.

“Shane hasn’t come out of his room in five days,” Ryan says, his voice wavering more than he’d anticipated. “What do I do?”

_“I will come over there, I suppose. In ten minutes.”_

“Thanks so much – “ The click of an ended conversation stops Ryan mid-word. He frowns down at his phone. The entity on his shoulder has gone silent, judgmentally so. The weight of a bad decision settles into his bones as he sits on the couch, alone, in a house that is not his. Thom always sounds so sharp. Should he have called? Silence.

Ten minutes pass quicker than Ryan would like. He doesn’t want to call back and say, “Just kidding!” Because he fears the wrath that Thom might be withholding under those pressed suits of his. But in seconds, seemingly, he hears the noise of urgent tires on the rocks outside. He stands.

The door opens, slamming against the wall adjacent. Thom steps inside, clean black shoes sinking into the plush carpet. His eyes scan the main room before landing on Ryan. His eyes are so dark they seem black, a startling contrast to Shane’s shiny amber ones.

“What did you do?” Thom asks, not accusatory but also all so accusatory at the same time. He doesn’t bother closing the door.

“I…? Nothing, I just… I thought he was sleeping, but he’s been in there for a long time.” Ryan stuffs his hands into his jeans pockets. “Why?”

“Nothing. You should go,” Thom walks forward to the room, reaching into his suit jacket to grab an ancient-looking ring of keys.

“I… I need to call my ride, it’ll take him a while to – “

“Then wait outside,” Thom says, hunching over the doorknob. The keys rattle. Ryan can hear the bedsprings groan. “Family business.”

Ryan does as he’s told. He isn’t one to do that. He’d rather enter alongside Thom, if not in front of him, to make sure Shane’s okay. To cover the tall man with his body to save him from the skeleton man. Instead, there’s something about Shane’s brother that sparks some sort of primal instinct in Ryan to _listen_. _Listen to the scary man before he ruins your life. _

On the way out, he reaches out – pulls one side of the tarp down, nail ripping through the plastic. The room gets lighter. He feels like a secret agent, of sorts, creating a peephole where there wasn’t one before.

Ryan steps out onto the porch, gingerly closing the door, taking his post beside the window for surveillance. He texts Joseph, _hey, I need you to pick me up asap_, before tucking it into his pocket. He peers through the triangle-shaped opening in the tarp.

_“Get up,”_ Thom says. He disappears from view into the room, pushing Shane’s door open with the same velocity as he’d treated the front entrance. Ryan winces. _“Get. Up.”_

_“Where’d Ryan go?”_ Ryan can hear Shane’s voice – croaky, nearly unfamiliar, deep, unused – murmur.

_“Come here. Come HERE.”_

There is no phrase or easy description of the puddle that forms in Ryan’s stomach at the sight of Shane getting dragged out of his bedroom by the hair, dropping to his knees at his own brother’s feet. Shane’s fingers are grasping at his brother’s wrist. He’s wearing the same clothes, same pink sweatpants.

It takes Thom too long to release Shane, who slumps more completely against the carpet. Thom steps around him, shutting the door loudly and locking it from the outside. Ryan frowns.

_“Normal,” _Thom says. _“Be normal, for God sake. You’re not sick.”_

_“I know I’m not sick,” _Shane says. Thom’s fist clenches around the keys.

Thom bends over, just slightly. His voice is quiet. Ryan can’t hear what he says.

Shane looks up at him. Ryan can’t tell if he doesn’t want to get up or if he physically cannot. His mouth hangs agape for a moment, _“Of course not.”_

_“Work on it,” _Thom says. He stands up, straightening his tie. _“You make us look bad.”_

_“No one can see me,” _Shane mumbles. It sounds like a promise.

The rumble of tires breaks Ryan’s attention away. The gray lemon is hurtling down the path, dust flying up underneath its tires. He turns back to look inside but finds Shane staring at him. He can’t focus on Thom’s words. Shane is blank, eyes boring through Ryan’s skull.

“Are you okay?” He hears Joseph say, the car door opening.

“We have to go,” Ryan says. He steps off the porch, stumbling. “We gotta… go.”

“Oh, is… is everything – “

“Yeah.” Ryan can’t see through the netting from this far away. He wishes he could see. He wishes he could hear. His legs lead him into the car anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're beginning to diverge from my mother's canon at this point. 
> 
> megan's family wasn't very supportive or present for her, but i plan to expand that to a problematic degree in this.


	6. Chapter 6

Ryan drives himself over to Shane’s the next day. Early, earlier than he’d like to admit. Seconds, nearly, before the sun would climb the trees and those awesome yellow light spots on the side of Shane’s house would grow and grow until the entire house was lit by the world’s largest spotlight. He’s sure Shane isn’t awake. He couldn’t be. But he brings coffee anyway, nestled in the crook of his elbow, burning through his sleeve as he struggles to push the door open.

Shane is laying down, starfished in the middle of the carpet, limbs reaching for each corner of the living room. He jumps, noticeably so, when Ryan enters. His stomach tenses for a moment, navel visible as his tiny (pink) shirt rides up toward his chest, for less than a second. Shane relaxes into a puddle when he recognizes him, even upside down, murmuring a soft, “Ryan?”

“Hey, bud,” Ryan says. Relief settles in his stomach. He closes the door with his foot, holding the coffee cups up. “Brought coffee. You like coffee?”

“Lukewarm, yeah.” Shane points to the coffee table, as if to say, _leave it there, I’ll get to it eventually. _“Hi.”

“Sorry, I’m early,” Ryan sets the cups on the table. He rests his hands on his hips, looking around. Nothing out of order, save for the man on the floor. He chews on his words carefully. “I was, uh… Um. Worried, about you.”

“Really?” Shane sits up, turning to face him. His eyebrows are raised, halfway up his forehead. He looks tired. “Thank you.”

Ryan isn’t sure what to say. The concept of saying _you’re welcome_ as if to validate Shane’s sheer surprise at the idea that Ryan could worry about him makes Ryan uncomfortable. He looks toward the kitchen. “Do you want breakfast or something?”

Shane looks around. He doesn’t answer. The tarp is still hanging from Ryan’s little act of mutiny, and Ryan knows it has to have bothered the fuck out of Shane all night. He feels a second wave of guilt.

“How about this?” Ryan’s voice catches Shane’s attention again. It’s almost as if his ears perk up. “I’ll fix the tarp – “ Shane lets out a (pleased) sigh. “ – and then I’ll make some breakfast.”

“Okay,” Shane says. He yawns. “Thank you.”

Ryan grimaces. These manners seem to have emerged from the woodwork with little to no warning. So many _thank you’s_ so fast. “You deserve it. When was the last time you ate?”

Shane shrugs. He lulls his head over to the coffees. “Are these both the same?” Classic avoidance, classic Shane.

“Yeah. I didn’t drink out of either of ‘em, so you can pick.” Joseph’s always so picky about these things. A double-dip protester.

“It wouldn’t matter,” Shane says. Shane isn’t Joseph. He grabs one. He takes a long sip. Ryan feels as though he’s won something. “Where did you get this?”

“Some place called Bean Works.”

“That’s weird.”

“I thought so too,” Ryan walks toward the kitchen. It seems cleaner than he remembers. But there’s never been much of a mess. “Do you remember where I put the nails?”

“No,” Shane says into his cup. “I don’t pay attention.”

“Right, of course.” Ryan spots the box on top of the fridge. He reaches for it, up on his tippy toes. Why would he have put it there? He can’t recall. “I put it up high, didn’t I?”

“Didn’t think you could reach,” Shane says, so quiet Ryan thinks it might not have been meant to be heard.

“What?” Ryan stops, turning to the man sitting on the ground. He catches the diluted hint of a mischievous smile that plays on Shane’s lips. “Did you put it up there?”

Shane groans as he pushes himself to his feet. He stumbles as he walks. He seems to think about it for a moment, stuttering out a quiet, “Yeah.”

“…Why?” Ryan laughs the word, looking up at him. Shane is _tall_. This always manages to slip his mind.

“I don’t know,” Shane says. Ryan is hesitant to call him sheepish. “Thought it would be funny to put it up here so you couldn’t reach it. And then you’d have to, like, ask me to come get it down for you.” Shane brings the box of nails down. Ryan takes it. His words are rambled and quiet. “I don’t know. It isn’t that funny.”

“It’s kinda funny.” Ryan often forgets that, when he leaves a place, people can still remember him. Shane thinks about him when he’s gone? Fascinating. “You’re talkative today.”

Shane’s hovering over him, now. Ryan feels his back press against the fridge. “I wanted to say thanks for calling my brother.”

Ryan frowns at the outburst. Shane is clutching his hands in front of himself, eyes focused anywhere but on Ryan. Ryan worries his bones might snap. “Actually, I was… well, I was gonna apologize for calling him. Because he…”

“It was good.” It’s ridiculous that Shane is trying to comfort _him_. “I don’t know.”

“Well, you’re welcome. I think.” Ryan shifts the box in his hands. “I… I’m sorry he – “

“Did you ask him if I could get a bird?” Shane takes (what seems like) millions of steps backward, crawling onto the couch. “Before you left?”

“I… no, he told me to leave, but – “

“If you could do that, that would be cool.” Shane rubs his eyes, grasping for the cup. “I want a bird.”

“Yeah, I know.” Ryan makes quick work of the tarp, two hammer pounds worth, before returning to his post in the kitchen. Shane watches him intently – but, then again, when is this not the case? Rarely. “Are you even hungry?”

“Kind of,” Shane’s hands are stiff on his knees. He looks a little bit like a bird, perched up on the back of the couch. Ryan smiles. “I don’t know. I’m mostly tired.”

“Then why don’t you sleep?” The sentence is stupid, but sometimes Shane needs to be reminded.

Shane glances wistfully towards his room. “Thom locked the door.”

Ryan blinks. He didn’t think about that. “So you just… didn’t sleep, then?”

“I sleep in my bedroom,” Shane says.

“Well,” Ryan’s eyes stray to the bowl of oranges on the counter. He hums. “How about… you know, I think I have a bobby pin in my bag somewhere. You have one of these – “ he tosses an orange (carefully) to Shane. It bounces off his chest and into his hands, “ – and then I’ll try to see what I can do about that door.”

“Okay,” Shane murmurs through a yawn.

Shane stares at the orange in his palms. He sighs. Ryan looks up at him, expecting an explanation. Shane’s eyes don’t stray from the fruit. He sighs again, louder. Ryan clears his throat. Another sigh –

“_What_, Shane? Jesus. Use your words.”

“Will you open this for me?” He holds it up as he does with everything. An artifact that Ryan’s been permitted to handle.

Ryan snorts, “You can do it yourself, bud.”

“Please.”

Ryan takes another shot at a laugh, diluted, before he notices Shane. He _sees _Shane, serious expression and slumped shoulders.

“What?” Ryan asks quietly. What is he missing?

“I can’t open it.” Shane replies, even quieter. A whispering match.

“Why?” Ryan raises his voice a fraction of a percent, but the noise bounces off of the walls as if he’d given a rallying war cry. “You’ve got hands, big guy.”

“Ryan,” Shane says, following his volume lead. His eyebrows draw together. “Please, I can’t… I’m not…”

Some caveman part of Ryan’s brain takes the reigns. Ryan leans forward on instinct, holding his hand out. The tone of Shane’s voice, or the way he’s looking down at himself like he’s confused why he is the way he is, makes Ryan’s heart fracture into millions of pieces. He takes the orange from Shane, “Sorry, I didn’t mean – “

“I’m kinda… uh, I’m… weak,” Shane finishes, watching Ryan dig his thumbnail through the peel. He winces, “I don’t know… I just can’t open it. I’ve tried, but I…” His breathing grows uneven.

“It’s okay,” Ryan says. He wants to say more, but he’s lost all other words for the moment. “It’s okay.”

Shane eventually settles down. He eats his orange in silence, not making any attempt to look at Ryan, still shaking ever so slightly. The coffees sit forgotten on the table. Ryan wishes he could help more, but all he can manage is to fashion a key out of a bobby pin (he was lucky that Joseph had told him once that there was always a chance that you’d need one) and push the door open.

Shane brushes past him with one final _thank you_ under his breath before he throws himself onto his bed and nearly immediately begins to snore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these chapters are never re-read so forgive any mistakes! i love u


	7. Chapter 7

As Shane steps outside, he squints at what little sun filters through the trees. He’s been holed up in the house for 24 hours, probably sleeping for most of them. The sight of him all together causes pride to swell in Ryan’s chest. His clothes are matching, today. A miracle.

Ryan had pleaded with him the day before to do so, thrusting the jeans and black t-shirt into his arms. Going out into ‘the real world’ required some upkeep. Shane, apparently, agreed. He looks stunning. He’s still wearing slippers, but he wasn’t going to budge on those anyway.

“Are you the person who was in my house?” Shane asks, the porch croaking under his feet. Joseph practically jumps at the sound of his voice. Shane is staring him down.

Joseph can’t help but look him over. Ryan glares. Joseph is leaning against the car like a greaser in an old movie, only exaggerating his stance as the awkward silence pulls long. “Yep, that’s me.”

“Oh.” Shane steps down onto the ground, leaning down to whisper into Ryan’s ear. “I don’t like people in my house.”

“Noted. I’m sorry.” Ryan nods once. He holds his hand out, mostly as a joke, but Shane grabs it tightly anyways. “Ready?”

“Mhm,” Shane hums, looking nervously at the car. “I haven’t… Can I sit in the back?”

“Uh, sure.” Joseph seems bummed. Ryan is sincerely planning on having a talk with him about how not-okay he’s acting. “Get on in, Shane. Buckle up. Roll ‘em out.”

“Where are we going?” Shane asks, not letting go of Ryan’s hand, dragging the shorter man along with him. Ryan wrings his hand out of Shane’s grip before the man takes him into the back of the car with him and/or rips his hand off. He stares at Shane. He’s shaking.

“Just for a drive,” Ryan says. He doesn’t know how to be soothing. Shane crawls into the back seat anyway. “Might go to the grocery store, get you some things if you feel up to that.”

“Hm,” Shane says. This is all he gives. He closes the door behind him, struggling with the seat belt.

“Is this how he always is?” Joseph asks quietly. Ryan frowns at him. “He’s… I know you said he’s odd, but.”

“You’re being rude,” Ryan says. “This is just who he is.” He walks toward the car. “C’mon, let’s go. He’ll warm up to you. Just stop being… an asshole.”

Joseph holds his hands up. “Sorry.”

When the car starts up, Shane’s eyes go wide. Half out of surprise, and the other half… well, Ryan isn’t sure. All he can read it as is, _finally. _Joseph’s car is and has always been a disaster, the noises it makes are never pleasant and always initiate fight or flight responses, but the way Shane cozies into the seat makes it seem as though he’s listening to his favorite song.

“Thank you,” Shane says, barely audible over the rev of the engine and the steady noise of the windows shaking.

“No problem?” Joseph says unsurely, not entirely certain Shane is thanking him. Shane is.

“Do you want the window down or anything?” Ryan asks. He sounds like a mom. He sounds like _his _mom. (I wonder what Shane’s mom is like, some part of his brain wonders.)

“Yeah,” Shane says. He presses his index finger down on the button, watching the window roll into the door. He sighs as the air hits his face. “It’s nice outside.”

“Right!” Ryan is ecstatic about how well this is going. Maybe a little manic. “I’m glad you decided to come.”

Shane just stares outside. His head knocks against the ceiling every time the car goes over a particularly solid bump. He doesn’t seem to mind. He just stares.

“Music,” Joseph mumbles. He flicks the radio on. Some Neo-Soul noise comes out of the speakers. Ryan scoffs. “What? It’s great.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

They drive for a few moments. Joseph’s car and music occupy the majority of the moment, but Ryan watches Shane through the mirror and the sound fades away eventually. Every piece of Ryan knows Shane is a grown man who has lived on the earth for 30-plus years, but all he can think when he sees the tall man is that he’s fragile. That he needs to be kept safe and sound, away from any danger. Which, arguably, is stupid. But now, as Shane rests his chin on the door, the speckled shadows dancing across his cheeks, Ryan knows he can’t let anything happen to this man. Ever.

“Birds,” Shane says quietly.

“Oh, really? You hear ‘em?” Ryan lunges over to shut the radio off. Joseph makes an offended noise. Ryan focuses on the trees as the car moseys over the rocky road, spotting what seems like thousands of birds perched up in the leaves. Shane ducks under his seatbelt, grasping the door as he sticks his head out. He squints. He pushes himself further until his entire torso is outside. He whistles at them.

“Be careful, big guy,” Ryan says softly. Joseph mouths _big guy_, amused. “Can’t have you falling out.”

This idea being terrifying to him, Shane hesitantly sits back in his seat. He keeps his head out, though, hair rustling in the wind. Ryan catches a glimpse, just a hint, of a smile playing on Shane’s lips. It’s breathtaking.

They pull out onto the smooth roads, and everything is great. The window being open is causing that odd wub-wub noise as the air zooms past, but they allow it. Shane seems truly at peace. Joseph might wince every few seconds, but Ryan is willing to make this sacrifice.

Shane gets a bag of little oranges at the store. He clutches to them like a lifeline in the car on the way home. Ryan promises to remember the brand.


	8. Chapter 8

The lemon squeaks to a stop a few feet from the porch, close enough to identify the stark lack of a tarp in the window. Close enough, still, to recognize the mesh-covered silhouette perched in the window, waiting for their arrival. (Apparently, he’s found a way to fit in the window. This has been a source of contention for months, now – how to fold Shane’s legs into a basket suitable for perching.)

“That’s cute,” Joseph waves. The shadow in the window waves back.

“Hey!” Ryan hates the genuine enthusiasm in his voice, reminiscent of his tone toward a dog he wants to befriend, but the image of Shane lingering in the window is wonderfully sweet. Ryan brushes the thought away as he steps up onto the porch.

“Hi,” Shane says quietly. He lingers in the window for a moment, as if waiting for Ryan to enter so that he can climb down. “Are you coming in?”

“Uh, yeah. That’s the plan.”

“Okay.”

Shane stays put. Ryan caves and pushes the door inwards, glancing in. For some reason, he worries he’ll turn the corner and Shane will be gone and have been a ghost this entire time. Or something. But he’s still here, looking over his shoulder, back to his mismatched demeanor.

“You need to brush your hair,” Ryan says against his best judgment.

Shane frowns, “Why?”

“I mean.” Ryan shrugs, “You look like you stuck a fork into an electric socket.”

“Well, that’s not very kind.” Shane unfolds, turning to look at Ryan. He sighs, “The first thing you say to me…” He stands and disappears into his room, mumbling to himself. “I was so glad to see you, too.”

Ryan hates the genuine smile that forces its way onto its face. “Whatever. What projects do you have for me, today?”

“I don’t know,” his voice is distant, the noise of rustling filling the hallway. “I just thought we could… uh, talk. Or something. Is that what people do?”

“Hm,” Ryan looks around. “Maybe. When I find a person, I’ll ask.” He turns to find Shane standing in the doorway, a vintage baseball cap stretched over his head, hair sticking out around his neck. He looks like a flower. Ryan can’t hold in a laugh. “Wow.”

“What?” Shane says like he doesn’t know. He passes Ryan into the kitchen, brushing against his shoulder. “I’m hungry.”

“Do you just wait for me to come back to eat, or something?”

“No,” Shane says, voice suspiciously defensive.

“Well, then. You can probably scrape up something,” Ryan looks around. He squints. Something’s missing. “Hey, is – “

“I moved the table out in the backyard,” Shane says, fumbling with the bowl of oranges on the counter. He stares at them intently. Ryan is sure this is because Shane doesn’t want to look at him. “Because there… it’s taking up too much space.”

“Too much space? Shane, you could fit an entire family in the living room alone.” Ryan turns, scanning the walls. He walks through the area where the table would be to sit on the couch. “Two families, even.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Shane finally grabs a small orange and rolls it in his palm for a few seconds. “How many people are in a family? Approximately?”

“Um.” Ryan pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Not sure. Maybe like, five people? At least.”

Shane hums, considering this. He walks back to the living room, sitting down in the center of the carpet. Ryan watches him stretch out into his starfish position, placing his orange on his chest like an ornament. Ryan chooses to ignore it, chooses not to ask the question he’s dying to ask, and opens Twitter.

Shane’s hands rise and fall with his breaths, his eyes locked onto the ceiling fan. Ryan desperately buries himself in the Trending page. He has to distract himself from how profoundly he wants to know what Shane is thinking about. He doesn’t pay attention to the time that passes. He doesn’t even really read the words his eyes try to focus on.

“Ryan?”

“Yeah, bud?” Ryan looks up from his phone, finally, probably too excited.

“Sometimes…” Shane lulls his head to the side, “Sometimes I wish I could get rid of all my furniture and just lay down here on the bare floor and wait.”

Ryan frowns, setting his phone down on his leg. “Wait for what?”

“I don’t know,” Shane shrugs to the best of his ability. His eyebrows furrow. “To stop breathing or something.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. Doesn’t make much sense, I guess.”

“Yeah. Not really, but – I mean, is that a good thing? Should I be concerned?”

“Why would you be concerned?” Shane asks.

“I mean. It sounded like a thing someone says when they’re…” Ryan doesn’t finish the sentence. Shane wouldn’t do that. He just doesn’t have the words for what he’s feeling, that’s all.

“I don’t know what it is,” Shane concludes, looking back at the ceiling. “I’m… well, I used to be alone and now I think a lot, I guess, and breathing is kind of weird if you really consider it.”

“Yeah,” Ryan laughs, but he isn’t sure if he should have.

“When Thom locks my room, I just kind of stare up here,” he raises a long arm and points upward, “and if you focus on the little dot by the ceiling fan, everything feels a lot smaller.”

Ryan tilts his head back and tries to focus. Shane is right. The kitchen looks closer. Shane looks closer, practically laying in his lap. Hm. Ryan lets his chin fall to rest against his chest. That’s enough of that.

“And I guess it was… not freaking me out, but something like that.” Shane sighs. The orange rolls to rest under his chin. Shane knocks it to the floor with a finger. “So that’s why the table is outside. Maybe.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Felt like I needed to explain.”

“You don’t need to explain anything, bud.”

Shane smiles again. Ryan revels in it. Shane looks more complete when he’s smiling.

“Thank you, Ryan.”

“Anytime, Shane.”

Shane closes his eyes for a second, breathing deeply. Ryan taps his fingers against his leg, looking around as if he’s never done it before. He could probably map this house out blindfolded if he had to. He doesn’t know any situation he’d be in that would require that, but…

“What did he ask you?” The words come out of Ryan’s mouth before he can permit them. Shane opens an eye, glancing worriedly at him. “Thom. He whispered into your ear the last time he was here. Maybe I shouldn’t ask, or it’s private, but - ”

“He asked if I wanted to be alone again.” Shane closes his eyes again. “I’m not alone, though. Right, Ryan?”

“Right.” Ryan runs a hand through his hair. _Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ouch. here we go, folks.


	9. Chapter 9

“Do you want to do that again soon?” Ryan asks, unprompted, as he folds the burlap tote bag into eighths, tucking it into his pocket. The orange bowl is fully stocked again. Shane already has his hands in it.

“Do what again?” Shane says, holding his orange out, palm up. Ryan takes it.

“The little trip out into the world.” Ryan points outside as if Joseph is out there, still propped up on his car, waiting for the go-ahead. “Would you want that again?”

“I don’t know,” Shane gives Ryan nothing else to work with. Ryan hands the fruit back, opened, and Shane retreats to his seat on the top of the couch. It’s a severe case of deja vu for everyone involved. “Not today.”

“Yeah, of course. I wouldn’t spring that on you, bud.”

Shane stares at the orange in his palm for a few moments before sighing. “I need to take a shower.”

“… Okay,” Ryan says. “You don’t have to tell me every time.”

“Yeah, but I’m going to.” Shane stands, placing his orange in his spot, walking to the bathroom without another thought. The door clunks behind him. The lock latches.

Ryan lets out a long breath, leaning against the counter. The room feels too still when Shane’s away – even one-room-away-away. It’s a suspicious still as if Ryan should close his eyes for fear of seeing something he isn’t meant to see. Ryan looks anyway, more so as he hears the water pipes rattle in the walls.

It’s times like these where Ryan wonders what Shane does when he’s out of sight. If he switches back to a normal person (whatever that means) and peels his own oranges and dresses like an adult (whatever that means) as soon as Ryan closes the door. It’s impossible, Ryan often has to convince himself. Shane is who he is, Ryan has realized, and there’s no use of thinking of such things. But he does, anyway. He does, now, staring at the bathroom door.

[He imagines Shane, forehead pressed against the shower walls, mumbling something to himself. He can never imagine hard enough to hear what he says. If he’s saying anything at all, rather than some Shane-like nonsense.]

Maybe Ryan is crossing a line. A private, pervy line. _Stop thinking about Shane in the shower, idiot._

Ryan moves to do the dishes, distract himself. Anything to get his mind away from Shane. But he’s too far down a rabbit hole, too invested in his prying ways - a drawer is ajar, catching his eye on the way to the sink. _The _drawer. The picture drawer, full of memories that Shane has never disclosed and probably has no intention to. The picture drawer Ryan has already been through, with an audience nonetheless, and the picture drawer he should probably close and move on to the one task he came here to do in the first place.

He’s wrist-deep in the pictures in seconds. He’s never been one to listen, especially to himself.

[He wonders if Shane looks at these. If this drawer was exposed because Shane had begun to open it, only to stop before he could see what was inside. It was likely. Very likely.]

The paper is still as unblemished as it probably was when it was first developed. He can’t imagine, from the little he knows about Shane’s family, that they would have touched it many times. Shane must be carrying on this tradition.

There are several pictures of a dog, a cute dog that Shane has never mentioned. More photos of the big house. Grass. All of the things that probably didn’t mean much to them at the time, just wasting film.

Ryan pauses his quick shuffling through, staring down at the image in his hands. It’s the picture he saw when Joseph was here last. A young Shane stands to the very left, the shortest and youngest son of three brothers, in shades of blue that contradict the grey dress code of the other figures. His mother doesn’t smile. His father doesn’t smile. It is a cold image. Ryan swears he’s dreamt about this, since. It’s somewhat haunting, like the background to the opening credits of a horror film.

“Hey, so, I was thinking and I think I – what are you doing?” Shane’s thought stops cold as he interrupts himself. Ryan jumps, pictures clutched in his fingers. Shane is standing in the doorway of the bathroom, steam pouring out, two towels wrapped around himself like a toga (one around his chest, one around his waist).

“Oh, I was just.” Ryan holds the pictures up, an explanation.

“Oh,” Shane says. His hair is dripping onto the carpet. He lifts a corner of the towel and slicks his hair back onto his head. “Those are mine? Of… of me?”

“Yeah.” Ryan holds them out. Shane steps back. Ryan brings them closer to himself. “Sorry.”

“No, they’re…” Shane fidgets with his hands for a moment before walking over (the long way, along the perimeter of the room) to stand behind Ryan. He looks at them reluctantly, as if they’re a threat. Like they might bite him. “They’re fine. They’re. Uh. Can I see that one?”

Ryan holds the top photo up, the family photo. Shane takes it. “They’re your pictures, Shane.”

Shane hums, unsure, seeming to walk back to the bathroom. He stops short. “I remember this.”

“You do?” Ryan listens _harder_. Shane doesn’t talk about his family much. This is important.

“Yeah, I was… the photographer could only come at a certain time, so they called me out of school for the day. And they got… well, Barnaby picked me up from elementary school, and… Everyone was all dressed up, and I asked if I was going to get a suit someday, and my mom said… she said…”

The pause draws long. Shane’s back is to Ryan, tense to a painful degree. Ryan blinks.

Shane takes a long breath. “I didn’t need one, because I…” His voice is choked off. Shane turns, covering his mouth with the back of his hand, tears spilling. “I wasn’t really part of the – “ His hands begin to shake, the picture flutters to the floor, settling by his feet. Shane takes a stumbling step backward.

Ryan crosses the room before he can think, before he can breathe. He hasn’t hugged someone that wasn’t his mother in upwards of five years, and it feels terribly off. It’s damp and awkward (Ryan unsure of where to put his hands, too uncomfortable to place his hand on Shane’s bare back) but Shane grasps at the back of Ryan’s shirt and it becomes terribly clear how much Shane needs this. A hug. _This _is what was missing from all of those pictures.

Shane bends down closer, burying his cold nose into the crook of Ryan’s warm shoulder. Ryan’s mother always puts her hand on the back of his neck when he needs comfort. He tries this. Shane sniffles. His skin is still warm and damp from the shower.

“I’m sorry,” Shane says. His voice is deep, yet weak. 

“Wh – why?”

“I’m getting your shirt wet.”

“It can dry, big guy.”

“Still.” Suddenly, Shane is gone. He’s pressed his hands to his eyes and is taking small steps backward. His back hits the wall and he slides down. Ryan stays put, though averts his eyes as the towel begins to shift. Just in case. Shane attempts a deep breath. “Ugh. I’m sorry. So sorry, this is… this is probably embarrassing.”

“No, no. No, Shane, it’s… it’s okay to cry.” Ryan cringes at his wording. Shane looks up at him, his bottom eyelashes clumped and dark. “It’s okay to cry, Shane. You have to, sometimes.”

“Really?”

Ryan hears the engine of the lemon before Shane does.

“Um,” Ryan says. He knows he can’t leave Shane like this. “I’ll just…”

“Do you have to go?” Shane rubs his eyes with his fingertips.

Ryan shakes his head, “No, of course not.”

“You probably do,” Shane says. “So… you should, you should go.”

“No, I just – hold on, I’ll – “ Ryan turns and pulls the door open as quick as possible. He leans out, holds up a finger, _wait a minute. Hold on. _When he turns back around, Shane’s fallen asleep – his head lulled back against the wall, mouth open just barely, his face still wet – tuckered out from all of this emotion. Ryan almost _aw’s_. He restrains himself, though.

Before he leaves, he tugs Shane’s comforter from his bed and drapes it over the man. It’s the least he can do.


	10. Chapter 10

At six in the morning, Ryan receives a text from Shane that reads: _I don’t feel good._

Ryan ignores the fact that it’s five in the morning. He ignores that he’s even conscious at five in the morning. He also ignores, barely, the fact that this is the first text he’s received from Shane since their first meeting (in which Thom took Shane’s phone to send a message to Ryan, saying – “There. Now he’s all yours.”) Instead, he takes this as an emergency, walking into the next room in his sweatpants and jumping on Joseph.

“I need the car,” Ryan says. He lays his full length on his sleeping friend, who yells into his pillow. “And you to drive it. Shane’s in danger. I think.”

“What’s danger?” Joseph says, hardly even in English. “Shane danger?”

“I don’t know, but he texted that he doesn’t feel good. And he’s never texted me before.” Ryan presses his knuckles into Joseph’s sides. The man jerks away, frightened of impending tickles. “Please. I don’t know if he’s eaten too much and gotten a stomachache or if he’s dying. We have to go get him.”

“Ryan.” Joseph pushes himself to sit up, Ryan clinging to his shoulders. He finally opens his eyes, blond hair a mess over his forehead. “If we drive thirty minutes into the middle of the woods to find out that he can’t open a fucking orange, I’m going to lose it.”

“Just get up.” Ryan rolls off of him, tumbling onto the floor. “Quickly. You don’t even really need to put shoes on – we gotta _go._”

The forest surrounding Shane’s little cabin is much more menacing in the dark. Ryan’s never ventured out this way so early, no use for the extra effort. But now, following just a few letters, Ryan has dragged himself up and out of his own house with Joseph in tow. He’s gripping the window handle so tight his hands are starting to hurt. It’s getting into the “colder” months, whatever that means. This morning, the air has settled into the high fifties, but the forecast projects an 80-degree afternoon. It’s all relative.

Ryan opens the door before the car stops, hitting his head on the lip of the opening as he falls out. Gravel slips into the sole of his shoe. He had foregone socks in his rush. Poor decision, he decides, as he climbs the stairs. Each individual rock feels like a needle. 

The door knocks gently against the wall adjacent as Ryan bursts in, looking around like a mad man. “Shane?!” He practically yells. Maybe he’s a little dramatic. But he does feel as though he’s in a movie.

A small _yeah? _catches Ryan’s attention. He glances over to the source of the noise. Shane is standing in the kitchen, wrapped in a comforter fit for a king, braced on the counter. His figure is just barely lit by the wax warmer in the corner of the living room, fanning orange light across the nearly empty living room.

“Jesus, Shane. It feels like an oven in here.” Ryan fans his face. He frowns as Shane shudders and pulls the blanket closer.

“Really?” He asks. He sounds pitiful. “I’m freezing.”

“Alright,” Ryan softens his tone. He needs to calm down. “Come with me, Shane. I think we might need to get you to a hospital, or something.”

“Oh,” Shane says. He shuffles over, stumbling over the train of his blanket cape as he does so. “Okay.”

Ryan blinks. He expected some more pushback. “Right. Okay.” He holds his hand out to usher Shane out of the door, but Shane grabs it instead. He’s blistering hot. “Jeez, Shane.” He presses the back of his (free) hand to Shane’s forehead. Like a stovetop burner. “Wow. Um. Yeah, let’s go.”

Shane just nods. He doesn’t let go of Ryan’s hand until they get to the car. Ryan is having a pretty bad bout of deja vu, right now. When did Shane start to trust him like this? He tries to come up with a particular date.

“Hey, Shane,” Joseph says tiredly as Shane crawls into the back. “What’s up?”

“Don’t feel good.”

“Hm,” Joseph reaches out to touch his forehead. Shane leans away. Joseph frowns.

“He’s burning up,” Ryan jumps into the passenger seat and buckles. “We need to go to the hospital.”

“Really?” Joseph asks, suddenly awake and concerned. “Like – “

“Like, I almost got a second-degree burn. We need to go.”

“Alright, well,” Joseph mutters. “First of all, you need to get rid of the blanket. It’s making your fever worse.”

Shane is staring out of the window, eyes wistfully tracing the near-bare branches that hang over the car.

Joseph looks at Ryan before sighing. “Please, Shane. I know I’m not Ryan, but I don’t want you to catch on fire.”

Shane sighs and slowly lets his grip loose on the blanket around his shoulders. His teeth chatter.

“Thanks,” Joseph exhales, turning back around in his seat. He wraps his hands around the steering wheel for a minute, staring ahead. He sighs again. He’s thinking so hard the inside of the car starts to smell like smoke. “Hm.”

“_Hm_, what?”

Ryan turns in his seat to look at Shane (whose head is lulled back, whose mouth is open, who is quietly snoring as if he’s conscious of the amount of sound he is allowed to make). Ryan remembers the time he found Shane not too long ago, cooped up in his living room, exhausted. He remembers Shane telling him that he only sleeps in his bed. Yet here he is. He takes it as a victory.

“Do you think we should call his brother?” Joseph says, voice uncertain and soft.

“No.” Ryan rubs his eyes. “I already told you… what he did, you know. How he treats Shane and stuff. It’s terrible, Jo.”

“Yeah, but we can’t go to the ER. You realize that, right?” Joseph starts the engine anyway, cranking up the A/C. “You know how much shit you have to bring with you? All the identification and paper and… and contact information? How many contacts does Shane have, ballpark?”

“Oh,” Ryan shrugs. “Well. We can’t… I refuse to call Thom. I can’t do that to Shane again.”

“There’s not a lot we can do without that guy.” Joseph gnaws on his lip as he pulls out of the parking lot. The lemon’s frame bounces. Shane’s head falls to the side and knocks against the window. He groans, but his eyes stay closed. “I want him safe, absolutely, but my hands are tied here.”

Ryan frowns. “Why is … healthcare so…”

“Beats me.” Joseph adjusts the direction of the fan, pointing it towards Shane, who mumbles a _thank you_. “We could… hm. We could…”

Ryan glances over at Joseph. It’s ridiculous, the situation at hand, but Joseph is still here. Like always.

“I don’t know much about the minute clinic at CVS, but we can try it.”

Ryan feels his face smiling. He’s too tired to vocalize how important Joseph is, too tired to find the words, but he can only say, “Genius!”

“Wow, thanks,” Joseph says, grogginess slowly wearing off. He thrives off of praise. “Will you look up when it opens? I doubt they’re taking walk-ins at this hour.”

“Absolutely,” Ryan says. The car jolts again. He hears a small thud, followed by a small grumble.

They have a half an hour to kill by the time they pull into the brick building, the sky still sunless, the parking lot stuck idle under a blue haze. Shane is half-awake, eyelids stiff at half-mast. Joseph mumbles something about wanting to look around. He unbuckles, stepping out of the car before Ryan can even form a thought.

“Let’s go, Shane.” Ryan turns in his seat, struggling with his seatbelt. “We’ll look around. If you want anything, lemme know.”

“Okay,” Shane says. He sighs, long and loud, before fumbling with the handle. “I’m sorry for making you come get me.”

Ryan pauses, his slippered feet braced against the concrete lot. “You didn’t make us come get you, Shane. We decided to do that.”

They stand in unison, Shane so slumped over that he almost matches Ryan’s height. A mutual glance of confusion, yet comfort, as if to say _I don’t know how we got to be here this morning, but I’m glad we got here together. _

“I texted,” Shane murmurs. “I kind of expected you to come, I guess.”

“Then, you got what you wanted. Not sure what…” Ryan doesn’t bother to finish his sentence. He hadn’t planned it out very much, to begin with.

“That isn’t fair to you.” Shane sounds wise, like someone who’s been thinking on this more than he should have.

“No worries. We came because we wanted to.” Ryan pats Shane’s back, stepping up onto the curb. Shane follows, straightening ever so slightly. “We… uh, care about you, bud.”

Shane doesn’t reply. He nods, once, like it’s the only reasonable answer. The fluorescent lights burn Ryan’s eyes as they walk closer, dawning matching strides. He checks his phone to see the time. Shane peeks over his shoulder. The store is colder than the air outside.

“They have Halloween stuff for 75% off!” Joseph says, disembodied voice hidden in one of the aisles. “Come look at this!”

“Candy?” Shane says, setting off in the direction of the voice. He leaves Ryan in the doorway, trying to remember the last time he’s been to a CVS.

“I’ll… I’ll go sign you in, then,” Ryan says to no one, except for the sleepy cashier, slumped over the counter, reading the Smoking Rules again and again. Ryan waves for some reason, exhaustion setting in again after a solid few hours of adrenaline-lead adventure. Shane seems to have his interest on a leash.

Fifteen minutes later, they’ve made some leeway regarding their mission. Shane, Joseph, Ryan, and a plastic life-size skeleton (75% off) take up all four of the waiting chairs. Shane holds the right hand while Joseph holds the left (originally to make fun of Shane, but too tired to remove his hand). Ryan stares at the tablet on the counter, waiting for their turn.

“What did you have to put?” Joseph asks, eventually. “Care provider?”

“Um…” Ryan shrugs. “It just asked for name and payment.”

“Hm.”

“They might ask when we get in there.” Ryan frowns at the ground. “Worst case scenario – they make us leave?”

“Yeah,” Joseph rubs his eyes. “At least we got a skeleton out of it.”

“We?” Shane asks, voice croaky but determined.

“Joint custody. I bought it.”

Shane lets go of the skeleton’s hand. The plastic bounces off of the arm of its chair. “Whatever.”

Ryan jumps as the door beside him clicks open. A woman stands there, back of her hand over her mouth to stifle a yawn. She looks at Ryan. “Are you Shane?”

Shane stands without a word. Ryan stands as well, on instinct. “No, he’s…”

“I’m…” Shane raises a hand. The silence is deafening.

Joseph sighs, tired of these fools, pushing himself up as well. He looks between them, says “I’m gonna go look around,” grabs Skeleton, and disappears into the aisles.

“Alright. Well, if you’ll just step in here, we can get started.” She smiles, and it’s genuine. Surprisingly. The last thing she probably wants is this – two grown men, one of which hasn’t been out of the house in years.

Ryan turns to Shane. “Do you want me to go in with you?”

Shane blinks. “What?”

“I thought maybe you’d – “

“I’m a big boy, Ryan. Jesus.” Shane is grumpy and doesn’t feel well, so it makes sense that he’s sassy. He brushes past Ryan, apologizing under his breath as he does. He disappears, only for a moment, poking his head back out, “Thanks, though.”

Ryan smiles. “No problem. I’ll just… go find Jo.”

“Okay,” Shane nods, ducking in again.

The woman pauses for a moment, wondering if there’s anything she can say to make this less terrible. She decides only to smile and walk inside. Ryan waits for a few seconds before moving.

He finds Joseph lingering in the cold medicine aisle, hands on his hips, looking at everything and nothing at all. Ryan sticks his hands in his pockets. On the way to join him, he passes a mirror propped up in the hair section, catching a glimpse of his bedhead. He looks like a crazy person. That’s fair.

“When’s the last time you think he’s gone to the doctor?” Joseph asks quietly as Ryan settles next to him. He grabs a box of Nyquil and tucks it under his arm.

Ryan’s eyebrows furrow. “What?”

“Shane. How often do you think he gets sick, all cooped up in that place?” Joseph finally looks at him. “And how often does he tell people?”

“I don’t… I didn’t think about that,” Ryan breathes, leaning up on his tip-toes to look over the shelves to the closed clinic door. “Man. I always forget that he doesn’t…”

“I don’t know how he did it,” he drapes Skeleton over his shoulder. “He’s lived alone for so long. Not even a pet – “

“He’s been talking nonstop about birds,” Ryan offers.

“We can’t just leave him there forever, Ryan.” Joseph runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what we can do about that, but he just can’t… It’s inhumane.”

“I know.”

The door opens. Ryan hears it, his ears all perked up like some sort of creature, practically skidding out of the aisle. Shane walks out with a piece of paper in his hand, holding it out to Ryan.

“That was fast,” Ryan says, panting (from the five feet he walked). “Like, less than a minute, actually.”

“She says I need to go outside more,” Shane pushes the note out further. He sniffs. Ryan takes it.

Joseph is over Ryan’s shoulder in an instant. “What’s up?”

“Vitamin D deficiency,” Ryan reads. He holds the note over his head for Joseph to take. “That’s kind of anticlimactic.”

“Yeah,” Joseph nudges him. “I told you, though.”

Shane shifts on his feet. “Sorry I made you come all the way out here to – “

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” Joseph folds the doctor note up and places it in his pocket. “We’re glad you called us up. We’ll get you some orange juice and some… uh, supplements, or something.” Joseph pats his shoulder. “We’ll get you all, uh, patched up.”

“Thank you,” Shane says. He takes Skeleton from Joseph and walks out of the CVS.

“That went well,” Ryan says, though he isn't sure.

“I’ll check out. You take the keys and keep him warm.” Joseph hands him the keys, offering a subtle nod.

Ryan doesn’t know what that means, but he takes them anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> forgive any mistakes i haven't slept in a few days! i love u


	11. Chapter 11

The plans were made with few words. Ryan felt like he blinked and, suddenly, Joseph was lugging comforters out of Shane’s closets and piling them in the middle of the living room. Shane watched with his fingers over his mouth, glad to have people here but not too excited for the living room floor to be covered again.

“We’ll keep you company tonight, we’ll have a great sleepover, and in the morning… we’ll go for a walk. Get some sun, get some breakfast,” Joseph closed the closet door with his hip.

Shane gnawed on his lip. “That sounds fun.” Ryan was surprised – it sounded pretty genuine.

“Yeah?” Joseph asked, surprised, pausing with his hands gripping the blankets. The oddness of the moment did not go unnoticed.

Now, Ryan sits on the ground, watching Joseph try to convince Shane to put his own phone number in Shane’s contacts. He grips the thick quilt around his shoulders, given to him by Joseph while he was pulling everything out onto the floor. It smells like a memory, but also Shane – a weird concoction of past and present that shouldn’t work so well together. Yet it does.

“I can just text Ryan,” Shane says, squinting at his iPhone 4 as if he’d never seen it before. He sits, legs folded into a basket, posture stooped incredibly low, shoulders to his ears. Ryan can’t take his eyes off of him.

“Yeah, but…” Joseph pauses. He’s been doing this for over five minutes. He points at the screen, “Like, if it’s an emergency and you can’t get a hold of Ryan.”

Shane looks to the third party, fear-stricken. “You’d answer if it was an emergency, wouldn’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but – “

“If he’s asleep or can’t answer fast enough,” Joseph looks wide-eyed at Ryan, eyes screaming _just tell him to do it. He does everything you tell him to. _

“Then I can wait.”

Joseph scoffs, “In an emergency?”

“It’ll be fine,” Ryan says, finally. Shane shrugs and concedes, just as expected, letting Joseph take his phone. “I’ve been thinking about getting a second job anyway, so. I probably won’t be on call all the time.”

Shane’s eyes change, just slightly, something in the reflection of them dulls. “Second… job?”

“Yeah,” Ryan tilts his head. “Uh, yeah. This is my first one, you know, and… I don’t know. Joseph’s upping rent.”

“No, Joseph’s _landlord_ is upping rent,” Joseph glares at Ryan, handing Shane’s phone back. “How dare you.”

“Whatever.” Ryan looks around again. Trying to recount all that used to be in here. “It’s gotten quite empty, Shane. In here. You ever think of getting a poster or something?”

“Why would I want a poster?”

“I don’t know. Add some color?” Ryan looks to Joseph for help. Joseph can’t offer any, still confused by the energy in the room. “I know you want everything empty, but that’s just not realistic. Eventually, all you’ll have left is your fridge. Can’t get rid of that.”

Shane looks like he’s considering it, eyes moving reluctantly from Ryan to the kitchen.

“You can’t,” Ryan says as certainly as he can manage. “If you don’t like the furniture in here, we can get more. We can look around, tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Shane says. He keeps his eyes on the fridge. Maybe only to keep his attention on anything other than Ryan.

“Let him live,” Joseph’s voice is cool and collected. Ryan glances over to see him staring, eyes focused, saying _baby steps, Ryan… you’re being a mom. _“S’alright.”

“I’m going to take a shower,” Shane stands and disappears without another word.

Joseph closes his mouth, eyebrows scrunched. He slowly turns to Ryan, expecting an explanation. All Ryan can say is, “He does that.”

They sit in silence for a while, just listening to the rattle of the pipes in the walls and the hum of the water that rushes through them. Joseph slides his palms over a pillow, smoothing an already smoothed pillowcase. Ryan checks his phone. No notifications. He sets it back down.

“What are you thinking about?” Joseph asks, eventually.

“Hm?” Ryan needs to buy more time for an answer. His thoughts are all over the place, especially when he actively thinks about his thoughts.

_He always leaves when it gets awkward. He always says “I need to take a shower,” gets up, leaves. Takes an hour-long shower. Why? What’s he doing in there? Not that it matters. Not that I want to see what he’s doing. That wouldn’t be good. Does anyone else think like this? What’s Joseph thinking about? That’s the real question. _

“You heard me,” Joseph smiles like a mother. It’s incredibly calming, yet testy.

“Sometimes… hm.” Ryan covers his mouth with his hand. He can’t talk about the shower thing. That’s not allowed.

“Sometimes I get nervous when I leave him here alone,” Ryan checks his phone again. Nothing. “And… ugh. I know he doesn’t… like, he doesn’t even think about how miserable his life is, you know? And I know it isn’t… I know he wouldn’t do anything _rash_, but I feel like I have to watch him all the time. Like, when I leave, what if he gets sad?” _[Like I do.] _“I know he isn’t… I know he isn’t a kid, I know that, I… I don’t know.”

The rattling of the pipes stops. Accustomed to the silence, Ryan jumps. Joseph looks over his shoulder.

“That was fast,” Joseph murmurs. He raises an eyebrow as the bathroom door swings open and a fully clothed (and fully dry) Shane emerges.

“Changed my mind,” Shane whispers, before disappearing into his room and closing the door. The lock thunks. Joseph frowns.

“Should we stay?” Ryan’s voice is quieter than he anticipated. He doesn’t hear Shane’s bedsprings creak. Weird.

“I mean, yeah.” Joseph gestures around, “I don’t have any plans.”

“Right.”

Joseph wastes no time leaning in again, returning to his pose he’d held before they’d been interrupted. “Continue.”

“I don’t wanna… this isn’t nice.”

“What isn’t nice?”

“Talking about… about him,” he lowers his voice.

“You’re not being rude. You care about him, it’s fine.” Joseph waves a hand, pushing himself to stand. As he does, he pulls the blankets just slightly down Ryan’s legs. “I’m thirsty.”

“Then get a drink.”

“I will,” Joseph stumbles toward the kitchen. He hikes his thumb over his shoulder, “Keep talking, Ryan. You need to talk more, you know. Can’t keep all those explosive thoughts in that tiny head of yours.”

“That’s not nice,” Ryan sighs. He sinks down onto the ground, head heavy on his pillow. “I don’t know. I have so many things about Shane in here. Uh, in my head.”

“That’s understandable. You’ve spent a lot of time with him.” Joseph leans over and opens the fridge. “I have a lot of thoughts about you.”

_Not like that. _“I guess. But we live together. I don’t… I’m not _paid _to take care of you.”

Joseph grabs a small bottle of orange juice. “You don’t _take care _of Shane. You’re not his babysitter.”

“He… God, I don’t know why I think about this all the time, but he’s never even had a girlfriend,” Ryan shakes his head, pushing himself up onto his elbows. “Not to say that he should have had one but… he’s just been… there’s no intimacy.”

“You’re tired,” Joseph says, wandering back over to their blanket ocean. “Awake-Ryan would never say the word _intimacy_.”

Ryan makes a face. His eyelids are rapidly becoming heavy.

“We can talk more about this tomorrow,” Joseph reaches across Ryan to push him back to his pillow, tugging the covers up around his shoulders. “You’ve had a big day, champ.”

“Stop.” Ryan scrunches his nose. “I’m not your son.”

“You’re kind of my son.” Joseph pats Ryan’s head. “I love you, son.”

“Whatever.”

[Shane stands at his bedroom door, hand poised on the doorknob, ear pressed to the cold wood. They don’t seem to be talking about him anymore, so he figures he might stop listening. He has a lot to consider, now. A few more things to think about, as if he doesn’t have enough. He lets his hand fall, stepping backward until his shins hit the mattress. It takes him a minute to crawl under his blanket.

_That’s what’s been missing, _one thought breaks through all of the others, _intimacy._]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i never get these beta-ed. if anyone wants to read my garbage, please let me know. 
> 
> i hope you like this. we're about to go wild.


	12. Chapter 12

When Ryan enters the cabin, something is different. The blankets from him and Joseph’s sleepover are gone without a trace. The stools from the island in the kitchen are gone. The bowl that usually holds the oranges is gone – a pyramid of fruit left in its place. The entire main room looks like staged fragments from a hardware store. This isn’t the difference, though - the absence of furniture is expected, at this point.

Shane stands from the couch (which is surprisingly still here - Shane is a few minutes' worth of legwork away from a completely bare house) and mutters a quiet hello, clutching a piece of paper that he immediately crumples and shoves into the pocket of his pink sweatpants.

“Hey,” he says. He runs his fingers through his hair (realizing it’s too tangled to run his fingers through, removing them, placing his hand in his pocket as well.)

“Hey,” Ryan says. He glances down at himself, searching for something to make Shane’s demeanor make sense. He tries to remember – _was I supposed to bring something?_ “I didn’t bring anything this time, really.”

“That’s fine. Good to have your company.” Shane makes a face at the words. He sweeps an arm out toward the kitchen. “Do you want anything?”

“Uh… no. I’m here to ask _you _if _you_ want anything,” Ryan says. He can’t find any red flags anywhere, any reason why Shane’s grimacing the way he is. “_Do_ you want anything?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I was mostly thinking we could just hang out, or something.” Shane shrugs.

“And… and do what?”

“I don’t…” Shane rubs his eyes. “I didn’t have, like, a plan. I don’t know. I don’t have a TV or anything. I thought we could just talk.”

“Talk?” Ryan keeps searching, eyes scanning wall to wall for a camera. Something’s wrong. “About what?”

_Something is different, _is all he can think. It’s all he’s got, the worst observation possible. It’s Shane, maybe. Shane, standing in the middle of the room with his hands clasped behind his back, looking at Ryan as if he’s about to say, _I’ve been expecting you, Mr. Bergara. _

“We need to talk,” Shane says instead, starting over, and this is a worse statement than Ryan had hoped for. “Please.”

“Oh… am I in trouble?” Ryan asks, mostly to make sure he actually isn’t.

“No, I just have to tell you something that’s been… that I’ve been thinking about.” Shane gestures again to the couch, more urgently. “Please.”

“Alright… Okay, bud.” Ryan holds his hands up, backing down. He lets himself fall onto the couch, crossing his ankles. He pulls his phone out and brings it into his lap. There’s a new text from Joseph – _should I stay or leave? Are you going to stay for long? _“What’s up?”

“Um…” Shane releases his grip on his wrists, letting his arms fall beside his waist. “Let me…” Shane pulls the paper back out, crawling up onto and settling down on the arm of the couch. He looks at it for a while.

Ryan opens the Messages app and responds, _No, don’t leave. I’ll be out in a few. _Joseph responds with a thumbs-up emoji. Ryan slips his phone back into his pocket and offers his full attention to Shane.

“I need to tell you something, and I hope it doesn’t change your view of me in any way.”

_He’s about to say he killed a man ten years ago and has been on the run since - _

“I’m a ghost,” Shane says, stony-faced. Ryan freezes. “I was killed a century ago by some mafia men in a dark alley in Southern Chicago, and I’ve been cursed with immortality since.”

“What?” Ryan’s blood runs cold. “You’re… you’re what?”

Shane turns his head to look at him, “I’m joking.”

“You’re… _right, _you’re joking. Of course you are.” _Has Shane ever told a joke?_

“Did you believe me?” Shane sports a broad grin, eyes crinkling. Just on the edge of a laugh. “Did you, really?”

“I mean… yeah,” Ryan mumbles.

“Wow,” Shane nods slowly. “No one ever believes me.” His smile dwindles over time, Ryan watches it go. He wants to bring it back.

“Was that all you wanted to tell me?” Ryan asks.

“Hm. No, but I thought that would be funny, and it was, so.” Shane shrugs. “Maybe I should quit while I’m ahead.”

“Yeah?” Ryan frowns, “Well, you’ve got me here, now. So why not go ahead and finish? I’m here to listen.”

“I guess. I guess I should.” Shane rubs his eyes. Again. An attempt to wipe the obstacles away so that he can talk. He finally does: “I’m. I’m _so_ fascinated with birds.”

Ryan shakes his head, “Not this again, Shane.”

“No,” Shane says. He holds a hand out, as if to say _hold on. Don’t leave. _“Listen. _Listen_.”

“I am. I _am_,” Ryan leans back into the cushions. Everything smells like fall, like cider, the wax-melts across the room particularly strong today. “I’m listening.”

“I’m fascinated with birds, Ryan.” He pulls himself up, sitting on the back of the couch, his slippered feet resting in the cushions. “I want to have some here, with me, to look at and… talk to and care for. But I don’t think birds like being in cages, and I don’t think birds like me enough to stay for very long.”

Ryan squints. _Where is this coming from?_

“And I can’t be good for the birds,” Shane rests the crown of his head back on the cold wall, talking to the ceiling. Quiet, reserved, thoughtful. “They need more than me, I think. I can’t leave this house, I can’t… or, like, I don’t _want_ to go out to places. I can’t take care of them, really. And I don’t want the birds to feel trapped. Here, with me.”

“I’m sure they wouldn’t,” Ryan says. He checks his phone. Joseph sent some question marks.

The silence lingers – Shane’s eyes skyward, searching for his words. It’s taking too long. Ryan feels like jumping outside of his skin. Part of him was hoping for some sort of love confession. Maybe he’s a little disappointed. Maybe he feels frustration bubbling up in his chest, ready to explode. He needs to get out of here.

He clears his throat, “Well… uh, you seem to be deep in thought and I wouldn’t wanna… intrude, or something.”

“What?” Shane asks, removing his gaze from the ceiling to fix his eyes on Ryan. “What… You’re leaving?”

“I mean… yeah,” Ryan raises an eyebrow. “I figured… since you saw us so much the past few days, you might want some you-time.” _You-time?!? His whole life has been him-time!!!_ “And besides, I just came to make sure you were good. And you are – You’ve cleaned the place. That’s pretty good.”

Shane closes his mouth. He takes a long breath before nodding. “Right. Yeah, sorry. Um… I… I’m sorry.”

“No need,” Ryan says. He stands. “I’m fine with being paid to listen to you talk about birds, big guy.” He laughs, if only to make it sound like a joke. _Stop, stop, stop. _

Shane frowns at the light fixture. He chews on the inside of his cheek. “Paid.” He closes his eyes. “Right.”

Ryan starts to walk towards the door, not sure what to say. Some voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Thom begins to plan out his thoughts. He says, _Whatever Shane is, you’re qualified to fix him. Maybe you need to buy the guy a bird if that’s all he wants_. Maybe it isn’t Thom. Maybe it’s just his own voice from last year. He’s still confused and nearly alarmed by Shane’s obsession with these fucking hypothetical birds. Maybe it’s all coming to a culmination. Maybe, maybe, maybe. So many maybes. _Maybe you should just ask him if he feels anything. _

Ryan turns to say goodbye, realizing he hasn’t done that yet. He doesn’t want Shane to think he’s mad at him. Ryan tries a smile as he pivots on his heel, _see you tomorrow _is just on the tip of his tongue. _I’ll say “see you tomorrow,” and he’ll say, “mhmm,” just like always. _

Shane is climbing down from the couch, his eyes squeezed tightly together as if in pain. He’s gripping the paper so tight his hands shake. Ryan’s internal monologue of _just like always _fails.

“Shane – “ He says. He can hear the noise of gravel shifting under tires a few feet away, the rattling of the lemon’s engine as he starts the car back up. Joseph must see the movement near the door. Joseph must think everything’s good.

Shane’s fists are clenched at his sides as he walks quickly forward, toward his room. The toe of his slipper catches on the carpet, but he recovers. “Bye,” he says.

“Shane, do you – “ Ryan gestures to Joseph out the door, an index finger in the air, before following the tall man through the dark house. “Do you need me to stay longer? I can… I don’t _have_ to leave, if you need me. I just thought – “

“No,” Shane says. He holds a hand up, pushing it forward, the universal gesture for dismissal. “No, go.”

“Shane – “

“S’fine,” Shane opens his door so hard it slams against the wall. He reaches out a long arm and grasps the handle before it can bounce back and hit him. He pauses, back taut through his cotton shirt. He takes a deep breath, turning around. He wets his lips and tries a smile. It doesn’t fit. “Don’t come back tomorrow, please.”

“What?” Ryan blinks, stopping. His stomach feels light, suddenly. Part of his brain tells him that it’s because he doesn’t want to find a new job, that he doesn’t know where he’ll get money, that if he has to go back to retail he’ll force Joseph to drive him into a lake. The rest of him screams at him, tells him how fucked up that is. Shane’s having a rough time. He needs to focus.

“I’m good,” Shane closes the door. The lock clunks into place before Ryan can even think about moving from his place in the hallway. “I think I’ll be okay from now on.”

“Shane, you can’t just… I’ve been coming over here for, like, a year. You can’t just drop me cold like this.” Ryan knocks on the door. “I’ll stay, okay? I’ll just be out here.”

“Please go,” Shane says, voice muffled. His shadow is still visible under the door. “Thank you, Ryan. For the company.”

“Oh,” Ryan says. He rubs the back of his neck. “Well… I’m sorry if I…” He takes a step back, “Just get your brother to call me when you need me, okay? Or… _you _call me. I’ll… I’ll come back whenever you want me to.”

Silence on the other side. Ryan takes that as an affirmative. He wants to stay, but he watches a crinkled fifty-dollar bill appear from under the door. He bends down and takes it. It feels like a goodbye.

When he slips into the passenger seat, Joseph looks at him. Joseph is waiting for the events of the half-hour he’s been there, for the frustrations and the antics. Ryan has a terrible feeling that this would be disrespectful.

“I need to find a new job, I think,” is what comes out of Ryan’s mouth.

Joseph laughs. The crumpled bill is burning the inside of Ryan’s palm. He doesn’t bother watching the house disappear, today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahhahahaha im sorry


	13. Chapter 13

“You gonna tell me what’s going on at some point,” Joseph says, face shrouded in red from the traffic lights ahead, “or are you gonna keep sighing with steadily increasing volume?”

Ryan realizes his posture. He pushes himself up from his slumped position and tries to act collected. “What? Wh- _what_?” Ryan laughs in a way, _that _way, so unconvincing he can taste it. “What are you even – C’mon, man. Psh, what are you even talking about right now? I’m great. I’m _great_! It’s… uh, it’s great.” His artificial enthusiasm tapers off as he catches a glimpse of Joseph’s face, concerned and stern (consterned), and he turns to the window. The light turns green, and Joseph takes his time before letting up on the brake.

“Was it you?” Joseph asks quietly. He taps his fingers on the steering wheel. “Did you… did you say something?”

“What? No. I said nothing,” Ryan bites his nails. “I literally said nothing.”

Six weeks pass before Ryan’s guilt gets the best of him.

He’s six weeks free of Shane, of birds, of the endless forest. He chooses to think of it as free – because Shane did, pretty much, free him. A dismissal, a quick goodbye. A weight off of his shoulders quickly replaced with a separate one: he keeps thinking about that nightmare of a man. That nightmare of a man with a mismatched demeanor and a fascination for something he could just glance outside and find. Worst of all, Ryan keeps thinking about the fifty-dollar bill in his wallet, still creased. He dreams about it now.

Joseph’s been looking at him like a disapproving mother for the past few weeks. Ryan didn’t go into detail, much because he couldn’t stand to pour over the very details he didn’t understand. How could he explain the unexpected bird lecture? _What the fuck did that even mean? Where did it come from? Was Shane writing poetry? Was he dehydrated or something?_ He feels as though he’d been watching an Ari Aster directed motion picture and is in desperate need of some movie review YouTube videos. But there are none.

Ryan packs a bag. He _packs a bag_ after nights of nightmares, his eyes swollen from shallow sleep, and drags it into the living room. Joseph looks up from his crossword, saying nothing yet simultaneously saying, _finally. _

“You spending the night?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know, um. I don’t think he’ll even let me inside, and I think I’m completely ridiculous for going back, but I need to.”

“For closure,” Joseph offers, tossing his word puzzle onto the couch and walking over to grab his keys.

Ryan chants _I will not regret this _on the trip, keeping himself turned to the car door. He can feel Joseph staring at him sometimes.

“We need to talk about this,” Joseph says.

“We don’t,” Ryan doesn’t even let Joseph finish his sentence. “Everything’s fine. Just checking in. He’ll be great, we can leave. Okay?”

“Fine,” Joseph grunts as they pull off the asphalt and onto the gravel road. “Jesus. You’d think they’d pave this.”

Ryan glances forward, mostly out of pity for his back (rigid from his odd position), only to pause. He sits up straight, grabbing onto the door handle as he leans forward. His forehead almost smacks against the dashboard.

“Look, a fashionable hitchhiker,” Joseph murmurs.

“Where’s he going?” Ryan grips tight to the handle as they drive over the roughest part of the road. “Why’s he dressed like Steve Jobs?”

“Maybe it’s Steve Jobs.”

“Shut up.” Ryan’s brain is going a mile a minute. “No one else lives down here. Where’s he _going_?”

“Maybe he’s a friend of Shane’s.”

That doesn’t help. What kind of friend? He tries to dampen the obsessive thoughts, but it’s too late. “A friend of Shane’s?”

“Who knows? It’s been a month. Maybe Thom hired someone else.”

Ryan squints as they get closer. Suddenly –

“Stop the car,” Ryan says, fumbling with the door handle before Joseph can even process the declaration. He’s stumbling outside, tripping on the change in speed from 10 miles per hour to stopping completely. “Fuck.” His palms hit the gravel hard, but he pushes himself up in a blink of an eye. “That’s not a fashionable hitchhiker.”

Shane has turned to look at him now, arms full of green reusable grocery bags, eyebrows high on his forehead.

“That’s _our _fashionable hitchhiker,” Joseph speaks, voice lined with pride.

“Excuse me?” Shane says.

“Hey,” Ryan says, stupidly. He puts his hand on his hip, but blanches, and lets it fall beside him again. He’s forgotten how to act. “Um. What are you doing? Where did you go? Um. What’s.”

Shane tilts his head in amused confusion. “I’m talking to you. _And _I just came back from the store.” He lifts the bags to prove it.

“Oh…” Ryan says. It takes a moment for him to comprehend what he’s looking at. “Wait, the store?”

“Yes, the store. I got groceries,” Shane sets them down, rubbing his palms on his jeans – his _jeans! _“I ran out of toothpaste. And then I went down the candy aisle and… I went crazy, I guess.”

“Hm,” Joseph says. Ryan doesn’t know when he rolled down the window, but he has his elbow hooked out of the window like a true countryman. “Did you get anything else?”

“Oh, yeah. I got other stuff.” Shane glances down into the bag. “Like, food pyramid stuff. I didn’t just get candy, I promise. Thom took me to the doctor and we came up with a nutrition plan for me.”

Ryan frowns. “Thom?”

“Yeah.” Shane rubs the back of his neck. He seems to be talking more to Joseph than to Ryan. It makes Ryan uncomfortable. “Uh, I haven’t told him that you guys aren’t coming around anymore, so he still sends money. So I’ve been getting groceries with that. And I got some clothes,” he looks down at himself to see if they’re still there, “And… uh, I’m seeing a counselor and stuff.”

“Wow. Sounds like you’re really coming into your own,” Joseph says. Ryan wants to shush him, but that’s rude. He’s just talking, it’s fine.

“Yeah, I think so!” Shane smiles. “Thanks. How are you all doing? Better, I hope.”

“We’re quite alright,” Joseph says. Shane finally looks over to Ryan, making sure that’s the case.

“Yeah… yeah! Yeah, we’re doing awesome. We just thought we’d… uh, come see how you’re doing, and stuff. But it looks like you’re great. So.”

“Yeah.” Shane nods, raising his eyes to look up at the trees. “I’m glad you guys stopped by. Nice to see you. You both look great.”

Ryan squints. He looks to Joseph, trying to see if this is weird to him. Shane sounds like he’s reading off of a script. His eyes are light, but he still looks like he hasn’t slept. Ryan’s known Shane a certain way for a year or so now, and he left for a month to find a complete stranger.

“Why don’t we drive you to the house, bud?” Joseph asks after a pause. “You’re still a mile out.”

“Nicole says it’s good exercise,” Shane says, though he walks to the car anyway. “But I missed this car.”

“Thank you!” Joseph says, patting the steering wheel fondly.

They settle in, seeming to forget (or ignore) that Ryan is still standing, hands at his sides, stuttering on a syllable to a question he hasn’t planned out yet.

“Get in.” The words escape through Joseph’s teeth, in the same cadence as _don’t fuck this up. _

“I…” Ryan looks to the sky for a moment, searching for the effort not to scream. “Okay. Yeah, we’ll drive you to the house.”

The ride is bumpy. Ryan gnaws on the inside of his lip as Shane and Joseph catch up. In the span of five minutes, Joseph and Shane talk about how counseling has been going, about how odd grocery shopping is, how nicely Thom’s been treating him – _wait. _

“What did you say?” Ryan turns in his seat, pulling his seatbelt behind his head to stop it from digging into his skin.

Shane blinks, hesitantly making eye contact. “What?”

“The thing about Thom. You just said – “

“That he’s been helpful?” Shane’s tone is unreadable. It makes Ryan nervous.

“Yeah. That.” Ryan turns back around. “I distinctly remember you never wanting me to call him.”

“That was a misstep on my part.”

“Holy _shit_,” Ryan can’t help but look again. He feels a vertebrae crack as he twists himself around. “A misstep? You sound like a senator, Shane.”

Shane smiles. “Thanks?”

“At least he’s talking,” Joseph murmurs. He spares a cautionary glance. “Right, Shane?”

“… Uh, right? I guess.” Shane shifts in his seat. Ryan can’t even attempt to look away, scanning Shane with intent to find proof that this _isn’t _Shane. That Thom took him to an expensive cloning facility or replaced his brain.

Ryan feels his seatbelt cut into his side as the car jitters to a stop. He hesitantly turns around, scrubbing a hand over his face. This feels like an alternate universe. His bag is pressing against his leg.

“Well, thanks for the ride,” Shane says. He opens the car door, gathering the bags into his lap. “It’s been nice seeing you, I need to put these away.”

“Oh, Ryan’ll help you put them up.” There’s a smile in Joseph’s voice.

Shane’s eyes go wide. “No, that’s fine – “

“What? No, what – “

“I don’t need any – “

“He doesn’t want – “

“It’s not even that much – “

“Ryan,” Joseph says, louder. Shane’s mouth snaps shut. “Help him put the groceries up.”

“Right,” Ryan scrambles out of his seat, kicking his bag further under his seat so that Shane won’t see it. He doesn’t want to stay over. He wants to walk in and out within seconds, if he has to walk in at all.

“You don’t have to help if you don’t want,” Shane says quietly as they approach the house, stumbling as the bags knock against his knee. “It’s only two bags. I can handle it.”

“Yeah, but Joseph won’t let me get back in the car if I don’t help.”

“Ah,” Shane says, and they leave it at that.

The stairs creak as they climb together, their steps out of sync just slightly. Ryan can smell the wax warmer before the door can even open. Shane really does like the autumn-themed ones.

“Come on in,” Shane immediately cringes at the phrase, walking in.

Ryan pauses at the door, looking in. _The couch is gone._ “The couch is gone.”

“Mhmm,” Shane places the bags on the counter and starts unpacking, eyes down.

“I thought…” Ryan shakes his head, approaching the kitchen to assist. He can’t bear to look at the rest of the room. He places himself with his back to the space against the wall where the sofa used to sit. He takes a bottle of face wash out from the bag and places it to the side. “I don’t know, you were talking about how good you’ve been doing – “

“I am.” Shane’s soft voice is gone. It’s more normal, now, just teetering on the edge of sassiness. “I’m doing great, better than I have been in quite a while.”

“Right,” Ryan nods. He grabs a bag of oranges. “Yeah, you’re saying that, but the couch is gone.”

Shane blinks. “I don’t need it anymore. It was just taking up space.”

Ryan hums. “That makes sense.”

“Are you being sarcastic?”

“No.”

Ryan hands a box of coffee to Shane. He might push it so far forward that Shane’s fingers brush against his palm. Whatever.

“Well, I’m glad you came in, even if Joseph forced you to.” Shane takes the empty blue bag in front of him and folds it in half. He opens the drawer – the photo drawer, now emptied for use as a blue-bag drawer. Where’d the photos go? “I’ve been thinking a lot, and I wanted to say sorry.”

“For what?” _For the bird talk? For making me leave? For wearing jeans?_

“I…” Shane clears his throat. “I’ve been talking to Nicole… uh, my counselor’s name is Nicole. And I don’t know how you came up, but it just kind of happens.”

“Oh?” Ryan asks. The tone outside is calm, but the inside tone is ecstatic.

“Yeah, it’s not… not bad things, obviously, since I’m talking to you about it. Anyway,” Shane slides the half-full bag in front of Ryan towards himself (clearly implying that Ryan’s been absolutely _no _help). “I’m saying sorry for being so clingy. You were very patient with me, and I should have been more appreciative.”

“What?” Ryan couldn’t have anticipated this.

“Nicole says I was latching onto you because you were being, uh, kind to me. And stuff. And that’s not healthy.”

“I didn’t mind.”

“Yeah, well, you were being paid to deal with me, which helped,” Shane’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He laughs, which makes it worse. “But I kind of overreacted and I kept thinking that since I was so attached to you, that you were also attached to me. But that didn’t really make any sense.”

“It does, in a way,” Ryan shrugs, but his face burns.

Shane turns the bag upside down, letting a tube of toothpaste clatter out onto the surface. “Well, that’s it. Thanks for your help, buddy.”

_BUDDY. _“No problem. See you around?”

Shane pauses. He folds the bag into quarters, stalling, before looking up. “I don’t… uh, I don’t see why not.”

Ryan nods. He walks outside, blank. He slips into the car seat, buckling up, hoping that Joseph won’t say anything like –

“I’m guessing you’re not spending the night?”

“Nope,” Ryan says. “Let’s just go.”


	14. Chapter 14

Ryan’s trying to hold firm. He stomachs the long nights. He tolerates the lack of texts and his idle phone. What he can no longer stand is Joseph – always staring, logging his every move like a naturalist on the hunt for a resolution to his hypothesis. It’s almost as if Joseph’s waiting for Ryan to see a text he’s sent, but no notification ever comes in.

“What?” Ryan finally asks, a burst of energy from the bottom of his stomach. He turns from the blender, the machine still humming as it powers down. “What is it?”

“Nothing.”

Ryan shrugs, “Alright.” _What do you mean, nothing? Something’s happening. Something._ He braces for a “you know, I think it’s funny how – “ but it never comes. He pauses. “What do you mean, nothing?”

“What are you making?” Joseph asks.

“I don’t know. A smoothie.”

“When’s the last time you made a smoothie?” It’s accusatory and maybe slightly cocky. “College?”

“Shut up.” A swift blow. Very well thought out, too.

“In the past few days, you’ve cleaned the linen closet, looked for the iron five times, bought a new type of toothpaste for reasons you’ve never specified. It’s like you’re just looking for things to do.”

“So let me do things,” Ryan shrugs. “What’s the problem?”

“Maybe you should do _other _things.”

“Like what?”

“Like get a new job.”

“What? No.”

“No?”

“No,” Ryan unplugs the blender. The smoothie is still far from liquefied, but he didn’t plan to drink it anyway. He blindly finds the lid, not breaking his eyes away from the couch. Which so happens to have a very judgmental roommate perched on top. “I’m taking a break. I’ve still got a bunch of cash saved up.”

“And you’re not going to buy anything ever?”

“I mean. I have enough for a few months' worth of rent?”

“And after that?”

“We alternate. So it’ll be, like, a year until I’m out.”

Joseph rubs his eyes. “I feel like you’re acting like you don’t know how life works. Just suddenly, with no reason.”

“I understand how life works.” Ryan’s being facetious. He knows it. He sticks the blender full of vaguely crushed fruit into the fridge, fully knowing no one is going to consume this.

“Just because Shane’s stopped being facetious doesn’t mean you need to take up the mantle.” Joseph pulls his laptop onto his lap and logs in. He makes sure that the noise of keys clacking reaches Ryan’s ears.

Ryan leans on the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’ve gotten really stern recently.”

“Maybe it has to do with your sudden metamorphosis into a child.”

“Are you joking right now? Is this, like, a…” Ryan doesn’t have the word. _He’s _the one who’s frustrated here. Everyone else is against him. “I feel like I’m going crazy.”

“Let’s hope not.” Joseph is definitely not typing words. It’s a constant stream of nothing, just noise, faster and faster.

Ryan taps his fingers on his arms. “I just don’t understand. It can’t have been six months ago that he was making me swim for bird cages and breaking out his fucking windows. And he’s wearing jeans.”

“You don’t even wear jeans.” The clacking stops.

“I know.” He places a hand over his face. “I know. I just… something’s wrong. I know it. Shane wouldn’t… he’s never listened to Thom before, and suddenly everything he says is gospel? I mean,_ jesus, _he’s a month away from wearing suits and combing his hair. Not that… not that he shouldn’t brush his hair. I just. I don’t even think he owns a hairbrush anymore.”

“Uh-huh.”

The edge of the countertop is digging into his skin. He tries to ease up, but it’s impossible. “And that’s another thing. The fucking… absence of furniture. Even at peak-craziness, he had a couch. For a while, he had a footstool, even. And I feel like… well, I feel like I know him well enough to say… if he were _really_ good, you know, he’d at least have a place to sit.”

“Mhmm.”

“And about the birds. He’s been talking about birds. And I didn’t tell you this, you know, but before he fired me… he went off on this weird tirade about birds. Like, talking about how he wants one but how he also _doesn’t _want one. Which made no sense.” Ryan cards his fingers through his hair. “And it still doesn’t, frankly. And if he’s going outside to the store and all that, he could probably just get one of his own. But he doesn’t. I looked, when I went in to help him with the groceries. No bird in sight.”

The ceiling creaks.

“I can’t help but worry. I _know _that I was constantly complaining about him, and I feel constantly guilty about it. And sometimes when I’d look at him, even though I knew it wasn’t true, I thought he knew that I talked about him. I wanted to apologize all the time, but then he’d say something bonkers and I’d get off track. I’d have to go buy a new type of wax or open an orange or something, and I’d focus on that.” He bites his thumbnail. Trying to get his thoughts together. “But when we saw him walking home, with those stupid blue bags, all I could think was that I shouldn’t have left him. Even if he wouldn’t talk to me, you know? Because I’m worried, and he’s in this _state _that I can’t even define – except for the fact that it isn’t Shane.”

He realizes he’s been talking for a while, uninterrupted. He offers a glance upwards. Joseph’s eyes are practically crimson. He pushes his computer to the side, bracing his hands on his knees. He hadn’t interrupted Ryan, he only listened, but the vein popping out of his forehead makes Ryan slow.

“He’s not in a worrying state,” Joseph is frozen on the couch, words just as cold, “Jesus, Ryan. He’s thriving and being social and doing things by himself. He’s happier than he’s ever been, and you can’t stand it, because he isn’t reliant on you anymore.”

“If I thought he was happy, I wouldn’t be so worried.”

“I don’t know.”

“Suddenly you’re the expert.”

“Why are we fighting?” Joseph raises his hands in defeat, stopping the conversation dead in its tracks before Ryan moves from his position in the kitchen and starts pacing. “Why are we…”

“We’re worried,” Ryan mutters. He sinks into himself. “You’re worried too, aren’t you.”

“For you,” Joseph says. “I’m worried about you.”

Ryan blinks. “You told me to help him put the groceries up. Wasn’t that because you didn’t want to leave Shane there?”

“I thought you wanted to spend the night.” Joseph reaches for the laptop, his face returning to a normal color. Maybe he put it down for fear of throwing it. “You brought a bag.”

“I don’t know what I want.”

“Hm.” He opens his computer again and Ryan almost screams.

“What are you even doing?” Ryan gestures to the display in front of him, disgusted. “We’re fighting, right now.”

“You said he talked about birds?”

“Yeah. It was bizarre.” Ryan shakes his head. “It was like some sort of monologue for a drama class. Talking about how he didn’t feel comfortable getting a bird because he didn’t want to trap them, or something. Or that he couldn’t take care of them.”

“Okay. So, Shane crafted a poetic monologue about birds, talking about how he felt he wasn’t good enough for birds, and that he didn’t want to trap them?” Joseph doesn’t look up from his computer screen, typing and typing and typing.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Hm. And he said he can’t care for them like he’d want.” Joseph Ctrl-S’s his work and slowly closes it. He turns to Ryan. “Birds. About birds. Interesting.”

“I know, right? It makes no sense.” Ryan cards his fingers through his hair. _Finally, someone understands me. _

“It makes perfect sense, you moron,” Joseph mutters, standing. He crosses into the kitchen. He reaches with his hands, offering a lift up from his slouched posture.

Ryan takes them, hesitantly, grunting as he’s pulled up straight. “What? How?”

“Ryan,” Joseph says with a smile that can only be read as _oh, you cute kid_. “You’re the birds.”

A pause. The fridge hums.

“Holy shit,” Ryan says. “I’m the birds.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know that was a little wordy and i tried to break up the wordiness but i feel like that's how realizations go. 
> 
> i love u


	15. Chapter 15

Joseph drops Ryan off at the entrance of the gravel road. He cites a concern for his tires, that just one more sharp rock will blow them sky-high, and Ryan is too nervous to start a dispute. He lugs his backpack onto his shoulders, grunting at the weight – he isn’t sure why he brought so many clothes – and starts out on his journey.

He hates the crunch of the rocks under his feet. He didn’t think about this beforehand, but he knew he had to be alone when he walked up the steps. Shane seems to act differently when Joseph’s around. He knows he has to show initiative (or whatever that means) and do this himself. No prelude. Just show up. With a backpack.

The road is lopsided, worn down on the right side more than the left. The rocks are sharp enough to push the rubber of his soles into his feet. It’s a long enough walk to rethink his decision. He rethinks it but doesn’t slow down. _This is the one thing I can do by myself. I can do this by myself. _

Joseph said he couldn’t. Maybe this is why he keeps going. His goal is to defy expectations and damn it, he’s going to do it.

Shane must see him 10 yards out. The road is straight from here, Ryan can see Shane’s front door clear as day. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but his eyes seem to make out a Shane-shaped shadow in the window. It moves before he gets close enough to verify, however the door creaks open and Shane steps outside.

“Where did you come from?” Shane asks; a joke that sounds too sincere to be funny.

Ryan waits until he gets to the porch to answer, two steps away from feeling normal, two steps too short. “I’m here.” _That wasn’t an answer. _

“You brought a bag,” Shane says. He’s wearing black sweatpants. When did he get black sweatpants? He looks great. Tired.

“I brought a bag because I want to spend time with you.” There’s no way to sound more robotic, but Ryan can’t manage anything more than that. His neck starts to hurt from looking up at him like this. He steps up once, waiting for approval to complete the climb.

“That’s good.” Shane squints. He looks over Ryan’s shoulder. “Where’s Joseph?”

“What, did you want him to come?” Ryan tries not to sound frustrated. He fails.

“Definitely not,” he replies, sounding even more frustrated. “Just wondering. Since he’s always here.”

“Not now.”

“Did he die?”

“No. _No_, Jesus, Shane.”

“Sorry, I just thought… uh.” His shoulders raise just slightly, tight. Ryan stares at his face, finally comfortable enough to do so. He looks tired.

“You look tired,” Ryan says.

“Maybe because I’m tired.” Shane laughs shallowly. “Are you going to stay out here all day, or what?”

“I don’t know. I’m thinking about it.”

There’s a silence. Within the silence, a noise. Tinny and sweet and coming from behind Shane. It happens again.

Ryan hears it for what it is, a faint chirp, and stills. “Is that a… bird?”

He pushes past Shane before the tall man can manage a quiet, “Kind of?”

It takes a little bit of searching to find it. He throws his bag where the couch is supposed to be, it thuds against the wall, as he scans the perimeter of the room. (Skeleton is propped up on the wall beside Shane’s bedroom door, staring up at the ceiling.) Shane closes the door quietly, his free hand clenched at his side.

Pink. The parrot is pink, swaddled in a white plastic cage in the kitchen, whirring and shifting back and forth on its perch. More importantly, it’s a little robot.

“Huh,” Ryan says, standing in front of it as though he’s observing an art piece.

“Yeah, I… uh, I meant what I said about not being able to take care of one of those things,” he rubs the back of his neck. “I wasn’t joking… but at least this guy’s self-sufficient.”

“I know what you meant,” Ryan says.

Shane squints at him, hands settling at his hips. He shifts onto his left foot. “What… um, what did I mean, then?”

“I think… you weren’t talking about _actual _birds.” Ryan turns to face him hesitantly.

“That would be weird. Why would I talk about fake, uh, birds?” His weight sways to his right, dodging an invisible bullet.

“I don’t know. But you did.” He raises his shoulders to his ears and lets them fall again. “There’s a reason you do everything, so I guess I should ask you that question.”

Shane traces his eyebrow with his middle finger. He looks over Ryan’s shoulder, probably at the pink abomination that sits on the kitchen counter. He takes a deep breath. “Do you want to sit down?”

Ryan can’t smother his scoff. He gestures to the shell of a living room. “On the floor, then?”

“No… uh, the couch is on the back porch.” Shane hikes his thumb over his shoulder in the complete opposite direction of where the back porch is. “It’s nice out.”

“Okay.” Ryan waits for Shane to move first. They stare at each other for a good while. Ryan thinks it’s Shane’s turn to lead, and Shane seems to think he needs a break. But the tall man sighs, blinks back to reality,

“Let’s…” He doesn’t continue, taking a reluctant step toward the door followed by two, surer ones.

Ryan hasn’t been out here since the birdcage fiasco. (Since long before these pesky emotions, before it got hard to keep things normal. Since before Shane became normal.) It hasn’t changed. The back deck is a few feet across and spans the entire house in width. There are two wooden stairs down to the grass, five steps worth of space between the deck and the lip of the pond. Ryan wonders if Shane ever falls into the water. Maybe he just wants retribution.

“Come sit.” Shane is already sitting. He has his legs to his chest, the way he used to sit and watch Ryan put up groceries, chin resting on his knee. His back is to the arm of the couch, as far to the left as he can manage. “What are you looking at?”

“Just the… uh,” Ryan walks over and sits on the opposite end of the couch, facing Shane. He doesn’t know how Shane can tolerate this. The arm is digging into his lower back. He ignores it. “Uh, do you remember when I fell? Trying to get the birdcage?”

A laugh breaks through Shane’s lips, a knowing exhale. He covers his mouth with his hand, his eyes filling with tears all over again. He closes his eyes, doubling over, letting his legs fall to the side. “I completely forgot – oh, God.” He speaks through his fingers, “I’m sorry… ha, I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry about _this_ – It’s still so funny.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Sorry,” Shane scrambles to regain his composure. “Really, I’m sorry. I don’t get a lot of Chaplin experiences, so it makes me… uh, lose it.”

“I was thinking it was more AFV.”

“What’s AFV?”

“America’s Funniest Videos?” Ryan blinks. “Huh. You would have gotten a kick out of that, I guess.”

“Wasn’t a big TV kid.”

“Weird,” Ryan says. He shakes his head, “What were we talking about?”

“Nothing, yet,” Shane hugs his legs to himself, “You were being weird in the house and I asked if you wanted to sit down – “

“_I _was being weird?” Ryan can’t help himself. “You’re wearing black sweatpants!”

Shane frowns, “What’s wrong with my sweatpants?”

“What happened to your bright pink ones? Those were more you.” Ryan looks out over the railing of the porch, as if they might be hung somewhere up in the trees. “You have jeans, now. And… and turtlenecks. _That’s _weird.”

“I thought those were normal things.”

“Yeah, but not you-normal. Normal-normal,” Ryan shakes his head. “I don’t know what happened. It’s like you’re a completely different person. What changed?”

“I…” Shane clears his throat. “I don’t know if I should say this.”

“Do it,” Ryan wastes no time, his head turning to look at Shane so quickly that his neck almost snaps. “I mean, if it’s important to you, then you should.”

“It is important. But it’s not… this isn’t what I’m supposed to say.”

“Say it anyway.” _Please_.

Shane sighs. He grips his left wrist with his right hand, tilting his head to press his cheek to his knee. He looks out into the woods. Ryan prepares for a proposal of love, or something like that. His heart is beating so fast he can barely hear his own anticipation.

“I need to be normal so you’ll hang out with me.”

This isn’t what Ryan was hoping for. “What?” That isn’t even close to what he had expected. _Even if the friend zone doesn’t exist, this hurts. _

“It’s not your fault. It’s mine, really.” Shane straightens up, holding a hand out (like he did that day he spoke avian poetry) as if to keep Ryan in his seat. “I shouldn’t have been so sensitive about it, it was really stupid of me, but you… it was made very clear that… um, that I’m… my brother had to pay you for you to come and see if I was, like, alive.”

Ryan can’t even form words. There’s a painful heat in his chest that he can’t describe, flaring up toward his ears. It hurts. It _hurts_, and he can’t imagine how it feels for Shane.

“And that’s fine! And… uh, _totally _fair, you know. And I know it wasn’t only the clothes that made that the case, but it felt like an easier way to start.” Shane looks at Ryan, who is giving him no clues as to what’s going on inside his head, so he continues. “So, I figured… uh, if the way I was back then was only bearable for money, then maybe if I changed the clothes and started going outside or things like that, maybe it would be easier for you to… or maybe even worth it to see if I was…” Shane’s train of thought gets derailed quickly as he sits up straight and reaches into his pocket, pulling out another $50. He holds it out to Ryan, “Here. Sorry.”

Ryan stares at it. He might not be able to label what’s going on in his chest, but all he can taste in his mouth is guilt. “You didn’t know I was coming…”

“Yeah, but I figured I’d keep one handy just in case.” Shane doesn’t look as upset about this as Ryan knows he should be. “Fifty dollars to hear me talk about birds, or whatever. That’s what you said, I think.”

“I don’t want your money, Shane.” Ryan’s having trouble speaking, the words low in the back of his throat.

Shane doesn’t let his arm fall. Instead, he pushes it closer, stretching as far forward as he can manage. The bill clips Ryan’s nose. “Just take it anyway.”

“I’m not going to… you don’t have to pay me to hang out, Shane. I’m sorry I kept bringing that up, that was stupid of me.” Ryan pushes Shane’s hand back. “I should have known better than to say that stuff, man. I didn’t even think.”

“It’s okay, you were right. I was a lot – “

“You really weren’t. And you still aren’t. I was just… there’s no excuse for that, I’m sorry.” Ryan shifts, trying to pinpoint exactly when he started being such a douche. And how he didn’t realize.

“I guess I’ll just…” Shane folds it in half and puts it back in his pocket. He unfolds his legs “I don’t understand?”

Ryan tries to come up with the words to explain what he’s thinking, but he can’t. He’s trying to manage the disappointment of a lack of a love confession and the guilt and the inescapable burning in his lungs. He can’t manage them.

“I’m glad to see you’re going outside and I want you to be doing well, but I don’t want that to be because you want me to come over. You don’t have to pay me. I’m not… I want you to be happy, Shane. Just not for that reason.”

Shane nods, taking it in. “I’m… Does it look like I’m doing well?”

“I think so. But are you?”

Shane shrugs. He purses his lips together and nods. “I should be.”

Ryan scoots closer. He isn’t sure why. He doesn’t do it on purpose. “What does that mean?”

Shane meets him in the middle of the couch, turning to settle into the back of the couch. His shoulder brushes against Ryan’s. “I’m… by all standards, I’m doing great. I’m eating what I’m supposed to, and I’m going outside, and I’m wearing clothes that I’m supposed to wear. All of these things. All the things I used to be scared of.”

He leans into Ryan. His cheek is warm, Ryan can feel it through his shirt. It’s almost as if the floodgates have opened, and Shane’s just talking to talk.

“But I’m _still_ lonely. I’m still frustrated. And I can’t tell Thom or Nicole or the people at the grocery store because that’s not what I’m supposed to do, is it? I’m supposed to be moving forward. But I’m not.”

“You are.” Ryan looks down, trying to see Shane’s face. His hair, so long it reaches his mouth, is in the way.

“Sometimes.”

“Anytime is fantastic, though.” It sounds much more inspirational in his head, but Shane seems to appreciate it. He relaxes even further, nearly to a worrying degree.

“Thanks, Ryan.”

Ryan feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. They’re so close. Impossibly so.

He clears his throat. If Shane isn’t going to do this, Ryan should. Shane’s already confided in him so much today. Maybe it’s Ryan’s turn. “You know, uh. In college, I majored in arts for television – “

“Why?”

“ – uh, because I wanted to go into production for awhile. Anyway – “

“Why didn’t you?” Shane sits up, curious.

“ – I… I don’t know, it’s hard. Just let me finish.” Ryan misses the warmth of Shane but at least he can see him now.

Shane nods once, eyebrows furrowed, still full of questions about Ryan’s college history.

“I majored in TV, but Joseph majored in English.” He looks pointedly at Shane, as if to say _hint, hint_. “And he can work his way around a metaphor. Especially a, uh, romantic one.”

Shane sputters, “I don’t… what metaphor?”

The parrot chirps, distant but audible through the dragonfly-netted window.

“Birds.” Ryan feels a little bit overconfident, as if he’d made this discovery himself, as if he still isn’t completely dumbfounded by this. “You weren’t really talking about real birds, not wanting to trap them.”

“I mean, I kinda was.” Shane glances out toward the pond. He looks like a painting. “That’s why I got Kelly.”

“You named the parrot Kelly?” Ryan can’t help but ask, even if he had a point to get across.

“Short for Skeleton 2.”

“Of course,” Ryan tries to hide his grin behind a facepalm. He composes himself. “You were talking about a person, weren’t you? I… I mean, that’s what Joseph thinks.”

“Maybe,” Shane shrugs. “Not sure. It was so long ago…” It’s meant in jest, probably, but Shane is too nervous to smile. His hands are shaking. Ryan takes one of them. Shane jumps, his eyes wide, staring at Ryan, waiting for the next words. “I…”

“Was it about…” _I can’t say myself. That would be self-centered and weird. _“… Joseph?”

“What?!” Shane’s voice cracks, nearly breaking the sound barrier. “What, no. No, Ryan. That’s… I barely know him.”

“You co-own Skeleton.”

“That’s not the same. That’s just legal consequence.”

Ryan shrugs as animatedly as he’s capable. “Well, it was before you started wearing jeans, right? So you hadn’t met anyone outside that you could have taken to.”

Shane’s face is bright red. He covers his face with his pale hands, “Ryan.”

“Was it the CVS cashier?” Ryan feels comfortable being deliberately frustrating, as Shane seems to have realized exactly what he’s doing. “Or… it’s the minute clinic lady, isn’t it?”

“Ryan, please,” Shane looks through his fingers. “This isn’t fair.”

“Fine,” Ryan says. He drops his hands into his lap. “Why not just tell me, then? Why leave me a puzzle?”

Shane only curls into himself more. “I had fifty dollars for you, still. It would have been weird to tell you I was… uh, ‘fascinated by you’ and then give you money. That’s weird.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Ryan doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s glued to his spot. “Weirder than a cryptic bird monologue, for sure.”

Shane doesn’t say anything. He just picks at his fingernails and keeps his eyes down. This is somehow worse than a text message. If they were miles apart, it would make sense, the silence would be understandable. They’d be barred from any action at the moment. But they’re both here, yet neither of them can think of a single thing to do.

[Shane fidgets with his hands. Shane remembers the first embrace he’s been given in ten years, just inside in the living room. He remembers the way Ryan didn’t shy away, even as he’d buried his nose into Ryan’s neck. He remembers comfort.]

Then, Shane is grabbing fistfuls of Ryan’s shirt. Ryan expects a kiss – that’s what happens in movies, anyway – but instead he gets a lapful of Shane, holding on for dear life. Ryan holds him back, locking his arms around Shane’s torso like some sort of life preserver.

Somehow, it’s much better than a movie scene. Better than anything.


	16. Epilogue

“Watch your toes,” Shane says, trying to adjust his grip on the sofa. He can feel it slipping through his grasp. “I don’t remember this being so heavy.”

“Yeah, how did you move this outside by yourself?” Ryan mutters, blowing a stray hair out of his face.

“Drop in 3, 2 – “ The wooden legs thud, two on the wood floor inside, two on the wood porch. He sighs, leaning against the doorframe. “I don’t know. Maybe I develop superpowers when I’m alone.”

Ryan squints, hands on his hips. “Is that a good thing?”

“I don’t know. What’s the point of superpowers if no one sees them?” Shane bends down again, still semi-out of breath, trying to find another way to hold on, a way that would be easier. “C’mon, we’re almost there.”

Ryan isn’t sure what’s going on, still. Not after a week of staying here on the couch while Shane sleeps in his bed. They haven’t talked about this, yet. He’s pretty sure they’re together, but he isn’t sure if Shane knows that. It feels like a middle school relationship, a good morning and good night text away from that very situation.

“There,” Ryan leans against the wall, huffing and puffing. He needs to get back into shape. “See? Just like old times.”

Shane’s looking it over, unsure. “Was it always this big?”

“Yeah, but you’ll get used to it eventually.” Ryan hops onto the couch. He goes to put his feet up on the table, but his heels thud against the carpet. Right. “Just let me know when you’re ready for the rest of it to move in. You’ll feel better when this place is decorated.”

“Probably,” Shane says. He looks around, hands on his hips like he’s the new owner of a fixer-upper in a – well, Ryan’s thought this for a while. If Shane’s looking for a catalyst for change, he’s gotta be it.

“Uh, Shane?” Ryan asks, crossing one leg over the other. “You know, if you don’t want to do this stuff. You don’t have to.”

Shane squints. “What stuff?” One of his hands falls beside him, the other firmly planted. “The decoration stuff or the…?”

Ryan doesn’t understand for a few minutes until he sees that look on Shane’s face. Familiar. The eyes that said _Does it look like I'm doing well? _ “Oh. _Oh, _I meant the decoration stuff. I mean, like, I don’t want to force you into changing your, um, living space if you don’t want. Because you’ve lived – or, I guess, been here longer than I have.”

Shane smiles. “Do you want to live here?”

Ryan sputters. He hadn’t anticipated this. “What?”

“Do you want to live here, with me?”

“I… yeah, I guess.” Ryan cringes at his delivery. _I guess? What the fuck? _“I mean, definitely. For sure.”

“So let’s decorate.” Shane shrugs. “I don’t care. Whatever makes it feel comfortable for you.”

He has no words. Well, he has a few, but they aren’t fully developed enough to say with full confidence.

Instead he says, “Okay.” He looks around again, and the walls look fuller than they did a few seconds ago. It’s almost as if every plan he had for this main room had dissipated as soon as Shane said those words. As soon as Shane started looking at him like that, all warm and content. In his D.A.R.E. shirt and black sweatpants. In his white and blue bandana that pulls his hair back from his forehead. In his stupid slippers.

“I think… we should bring the coffee table in,” Ryan pushes himself to his feet, groaning. He’s already sore. Whatever. “And then we should take a nap.”

Shane nods. “Okay. And then?”

Ryan doesn’t know. “We’ll figure it out.” Somewhere in the last few minutes, every ounce of stress and worry that he’s held on his shoulders for the past two years is gone. It’s escaped out of the back door, still open and filtering cool air into the stuffy living room, and Ryan is happy to see it go. Whatever control-seeking plans and blueprints he’s been thinking about these last few weeks just caught fire and he’s free.

“Yeah. We’ll figure it out.” Shane brushes his hands on the front of his shirt. “We always do.”


End file.
